


Spellbound

by DefectivelyFlawless



Series: "A Heart Whose Love Is Innocent!" [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempt at Humor, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, F/M, Follows plot mostly, Freeform, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Magic, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, POV Third Person, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefectivelyFlawless/pseuds/DefectivelyFlawless
Summary: The summer in which Alexander Laurent saw a man disappear in the street, in the blink of an eye, uncovers a magical world.Greasy-haired professors, boys with lightning bolt scars, and mischievous twins are the least of his problems. Not when there's a noseless psychopath who's determined to get his hands on a mysterious stone, threatening to destroy everything.{Book One}
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Original Male Character(s)
Series: "A Heart Whose Love Is Innocent!" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095335
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. Epigraph

❝You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing.❞

— E.B. White, _Charlotte's Web_.


	2. In Plain Sight

There is a unique quality, almost magical, to the hustle and bustle of London. Evening rush hour had started, and the tourists lingered for night entertainments. The locals dotted near pubs and restaurants.

The heat of the day had softened to a comforting warmth with an occasional breeze; lampposts glowed, coating an ethereal veil of golden light across the cityscape. Houses lined the streets, placed together like old friends. In one of these houses, located in Notting Hill, a young boy peered curiously outside the window, arms crossed upon a cloth-bound book on the windowsill, into the nearby distance. Alexander Laurent waited for the arrival of his Grandfather, as he had done every day after school. Eliot would pick him up at three o'clock from the school gates, and, when they reached home, without fail, Alexander would sit in his Grandfather's favourite armchair with his book, face the window, and read until he heard the familiar rumble of the car came down the street.

His Grandfather was always busy with work and rarely had time for Alexander, which meant Alexander cherished every moment they had together. After all, Grandfather Laurent was the only living relative he had. Alexander hardly knew his mother, just the memory of a warm glow and a small peck on his forehead. Grandfather Laurent refused to talk about her; he'd become forlorn and silent, spending his time shut up in his office if anyone brought her up. Alexander liked to think that he would have been a good son, and she, in turn, would have loved him.

Today, however, had been the last day of Primary School, and, in September, Alexander would be starting year seven. He was eleven, almost twelve in November. There was something about Alexander that drew people to him. It helped that he was a good-looking boy, with short raven locks, azure eyes, and sharp, aristocratic features, but it was more than that; he had a smile that went all the way through to his core: a charm that even the coldest people couldn't help smiling at. Eliot claimed that Alexander could charm a snake if the boy wanted to.

Alexander's quiet evenings were idled away, sitting in that armchair. A continuous lyrical song included the gentle hum of the laundry machine, the rhythmic passing of cars, and the high notes as sirens. To an individual unaccustomed, it could be less than therapeutic, but Alexander was a city boy, born and bred, and these were sounds of comfort for him.

Eliot's voice sounded from the doorway to the living room. 'So, what are we reading today?'

Eliot was a tall, broad-chested man in his late thirties. His eyes and hair were dark brown, framed by thick brows. His voice was warm and rich, with an accent that came from the North of England. It reminded Alexander of drinking hot chocolate on a wintery day. Eliot had been hired early on in Alexander's life to work for the family. He was originally Grandfather Laurent's friend, and Alexander did not remember a time when Eliot wasn't present. Eliot was there for Alexander's first word (Grandfather, of course), his first bike ride, and when he started school.

Alexander glanced around, beaming. 'Treasure Island. Have you read it, Eliot?'

Eliot ran a hand across the lower part of his face. 'No, I can't say I have? You'll have to tell me all about it.'

'It's great! It's this book written in, like, the 1800s, I think, about treasured gold and pirates.'

'Gold and pirates? An adventure novel, then,' chuckled Eliot.

Alexander nodded. 'Yeah, it's becoming one of my favourites.'

'How far along are you?'

'Three-quarters of the way. I reckon I could finish it before tomorrow.'

Eliot shakes his head in disbelief. 'God, I don't know how you get through those books. I can't read unless I have to.'

'One of the signs of old age, you know,' Alexander teased. 'Poor eyesight another.'

'Oh, is that right?' Eliot raised an eyebrow.

'Careful, Eliot, perhaps a walking stick would be appropriate. Don't want to break your back.'

'Oi! That's enough cheek from you,' Eliot scolds, though a twitching that came from the corner of his mouth signalled that Eliot could never be serious. 'Just remember to put the book back on the shelf when you've finished.'

'I will.' The rumbling of Alexander's stomach signalled greater issues. 'I'm hungry. Is dinner ready yet?'

'Almost. Just waiting for your Grandfather now.'

'How long left?' Alexander questioned. 'He said six o'clock.'

'He's on his way. Should be home any minute now. You'll hear him come up.'

Alexander nodded, and Eliot left the room, possibly to check on the food. A silence took over the room. The faintest hoot of an owl was heard.

A breeze drew Alexander's attention outside. A lady walked her dog along the pavement, while cars drove alongside.

Just then, a peculiar thing occurred: a man stood opposite the house, other the other side of the street. He appeared to be perfectly ordinary. His hair was closely cropped and, the most striking feature, his moustache was trimmed neatly. A frown lay on his mouth, and it somehow made him seem more authoritative than his aura already suggested. He looked like the men that Grandfather worked with except that he was dressed in scarlet robes. Alexander stared incredulously. The man looked as if he'd come from a play. Who wore robes in public, much less bright ones that were an eyesore? For a second the man stood there, and then he was gone as if he'd barely existed at all. Alexander blinked. _What?_ No matter how long he stared at the particular spot, the strange man never reappeared.

This was not the oddest thing to have happened to Alexander. When he visited Westfields, a toy he wanted, had leapt to his hand without him moving. One second it was in the display window, the next in his hand. The shop's alarm bells were ringing, catching the attention of the whole shopping centre. A tsunami of people stared at the commotion. Eliot had to take the toy back, apologising most profusely to the security guards, who were baffled beyond belief. Another time, when he was five, Alexander had accidentally opened Grandfather Laurent's office, even though the door was locked with a sturdy key and his head barely reached the middle.

Yet, throughout all these incidents, not once did Grandfather scold him for it. He just accepted it and moved on, and Alexander could have sworn he saw Grandfather smirk.

So, how can a man disappear in the middle of the street, within a blink of an eye? It didn't make any logical sense. No one else had seen him, apart from Alexander. He didn't hallucinate, he hadn't blinked. The man appeared, then vanished. Before he could ponder more on the issue, the recognisable roar of a black BMW was heard. Alexander felt his heart jump. Grandfather Laurent was home.


	3. A Letter of Revelations

Alexander's summer was similar to the previous ones. The season came fast, as the music turned up to full volume. The sky blazed blue and the sun shone, a celebration of warmth and brightness. The trees rose to the occasion, donning their best verdant hues, and flowers were strewn everywhere, the scattered rainbow, in flower shops and garden centres.

Alexander spent his time outdoors in the afternoon, reading on park benches, or hanging out with his friends. Occasionally, Eliot and Alexander would travel to Central London to see museums or galleries. They'd then eat lunch in the park, and, afterwards, Alexander would feed the ducks. His favourite, though, was when Grandfather Laurent accompanied the two when he had the time. Although Grandfather Laurent was aged, his body was active enough to kick a football around with his grandson. During this activity, Grandfather Laurent looked years younger without the worries marking his features; his white hair danced in the wind, and a small smile peeked across his face. He bought Alexander ice cream from a gelato place; large scoops of vanilla oozing with chocolate sauce and pistachios. The cool evenings were devoted to watching _The Simpsons_ on the TV or playing board games with Eliot.

Truth be told, the disappearing man was never far from Alexander's mind. Yet, he never mentioned what he saw that day to anyone, not even to Grandfather Laurent or Eliot. It was something that Alexander could never figure out. Saying it out loud to himself sounded crazy enough, to begin with, let alone to inform his Grandfather. He vowed to dismiss it: the thought was just that, a fiction of the mind.

It was a defining moment, but the most memorable incident occurred when a strange letter came through the mail.

It was on a Monday morning, that dawned clear and sunny, where the mystery of the disappearing man was finally solved, or a part of it at least. It began, of course, with a letter. Alexander had a habit of looking through the mail. When he was a child, Grandfather Laurent would travel, quite often, for his job, mostly to France, which left Eliot and Alexander home alone. Grandfather Laurent struggled with using a phone and so would write a handwritten letter for Alexander instead. Alexander would rush to the front door as the mail came through the letterbox, searching, Eliot right behind him. Eliot helped him to read it aloud, as he was a young child back then and struggled to pronounce certain words. Nowadays, Grandfather didn't travel anymore, but he still worked busy hours. It was one of the reasons why he had hired Eliot as a carer. For Alexander, Eliot wasn't just someone hired to take care of him. He was family. Eliot and Grandfather.

Alexander shifted through the mail. There were a few bills addressed to his Grandfather, some promotional fliers, and then he stopped short to scrutinise one letter. It was a thick yellowish envelope and the pen was emerald ink. The message, surprisingly, was addressed to him. Alexander's first thought was that it was a letter from his new secondary school, but most schools printed out the letter from a computer. This one did not use any pen he had seen. Come to think of it, who used green ink? It did not signify professionalism. Woolworths would not sell them. Also, was it not too late in the year to be accepted to another school? He didn't even apply. The letter would have been directed to his Grandfather rather than Alexander. The address, as clear as day, read as:

Mr Alexander Laurent,

The Second Floor Bedroom,

67 Westbourne Park Rd,

London

On the back, was a wax seal. Imprinted in the seal was a crest of what appeared to be a lion, a badger, a large bird, and a snake. Connecting these in the middle was a capital "H". _Probably a symbol for the school_ thought Alexander. It was somewhat pretentious. He should open it. Strictly speaking, it was meant for him. Alexander gently broke the seal and slid out the pages. Unfolding it, he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr Laurent,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl by no later than 31st July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

This had to be some sort of joke, right? A trick played by one of his friends maybe. He read the letter a few times. Alexander scoffed. _A school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he was a Prince of England!_ Smirking internally, he then turned his focus to the second page:

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk

 _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

 _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling

 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

Wand? Robes? Cauldron? Alexander snorted. _Right_. As if these things were sold in the local supermarket. Like he could pop into Tesco and ask where the wand aisle was. He should throw the letter in the bin and call it a day. However, what if there was some chance the letter was real? That this school existed and he could go. Alexander mentally reprimanded himself. The idea was ludicrous. Yet, for some unknown reason, he hesitated. He shoved the envelope into the front pocket of his dressing gown.

He was still thinking about the strange letter as he came into the kitchen. Eliot was making eggs at the hob with an apron around his neck and Grandfather Laurent was sitting at the table, flicking through The Daily Telegraph. They glanced up as Alexander came in. Alexander handed the stack to his Grandfather who peered at him. Grandfather Laurent was an elderly French man, though it was hard to tell by his English accent.

'Juice?' Grandfather offered him while flicking through the bills.

'Thanks, Grandfather,' Alexander said, picking up the carton.

Eliot appeared at the table with two plates in hand; the succulent aroma of eggs and sausages wafted through Alexander's nostrils. The day went on as normal.

∞ ϟ 9¾

It was during the evening that the subject of the letter was raised. Alexander sat on the couch reading Treasure Island. Grandfather had arrived from work, his legs crossed one over the other as he rested on his armchair. Eliot was getting ready to go home. The man had never mentioned having any family to Grandfather or Alexander, but the boy knew Eliot had his own home.

'Did anything interesting happen today?' Grandfather asked, expecting the usual answer. Although he was French, Grandfather did not have a typical French accent. The old man had lived in the UK since he was married.

Alexander paused, considering how to answer the question.

'Alexander?'

'Well, yes, actually. Though it's probably someone taking the mick, I don't know.'

'Oh?' Grandfather Laurent's curious tone caused Eliot to pay attention.

'Yeah, there was this really weird letter addressed to me. Something to do with the School of Witchcraft. I mean, can you believe it?' Alexander laughed.

He expected his Grandfather's deep chuckle, Eliot's encouraging smile, but none came. Instead, his Grandfather is frozen, his face ashen. Eliot's mouth remained an uncharacteristic grim line.

'You received the letter...'

Alexander started to feel uncomfortable, his laughter trailed off. He shifted his feet. 'I did. Why, does it mean anything, Grandfather?'

Grandfather Laurent didn't answer. He stared outside the window with unfocused eyes. Grandfather's unreadable expression made it hard for Alexander to decipher.

'It's time for bed, Alexander,' Grandfather turned towards him.

'What? But it's only eight.'

'Now, please, Alexander. We'll discuss in the morning.' Alexander wasn't pleased, but he didn't argue. His Grandfather appeared sad. Why though, Alexander could not answer.

Later, when he was going down the stairs, to get a drink of water, he heard his name mentioned by Eliot. Eliot should have gone home already. Alexander froze, not daring to breathe. The living room door was slightly open and white light draped across the landing.

Eliot's voice was sharp and cutting, 'You should have told Alex from the beginning.'

'Yes, as you keep telling me, Eliot,' Grandfather's voice replied.

'You should have taken my advice in the first place. It was wrong.'

Grandfather's voice rose. 'I was doing the right thing for him.'

'No, you were doing the right thing for yourself. He has to know. You can't coddle him forever. He has to go.'

Alexander furrowed his brows. What were they talking about?

'I know that! Sometimes, I think you forget who the Guardian is. He's not your child, Eliot.'

Eliot scoffed. 'Well, you damn well ain't been looking after him enough. You're barely even here.'

'Call me when you have to raise a parentless child. This is not a walk in the park, I guarantee you.'

'You've kept the boy in the dark for so long.' Eliot sounded incredulous. 'You owe it to both him and his mother.'

Alexander swallowed at the mention of his mother. He was confused beyond belief at the events that had unravelled simply due to a letter.

There was silence before Grandfather spoke again, this time in a wearied tone. 'I know I owe him. You don't need to remind me of that. But it hasn't exactly been easy.'

'Antoine – he deserves to know who he is.'

'He will, tomorrow,' Grandfather promised. 'For now, let him sleep.'

Naturally, Alexander could not sleep. His mind was racing with all he had heard. In all the years that he knew Eliot and Grandfather, they'd never been known to argue. What did his mother have to do with a letter?

∞ ϟ 9¾

It was with nervous anticipation that Alexander met his Grandfather and Eliot the next morning. Grandfather usually left the house by this time, but he currently sat in the kitchen. Eliot leaned against a counter, arms crossed. They both peered up as Alexander came in.

'Good morning, Alexander.' His Grandfather greeted him.

'Morning. Why haven't you gone to work yet?'

'This is more important.'

'What do you mean?'

Grandfather Laurent's sigh was softly deflating; it was as if the tension had lifted yet left him with melancholy instead of relief. Alexander saw, what appeared to be, resignation settles in his dark eyes.

'I knew this day would come. I just didn't realise it was so soon.' Alexander had never seen his Grandfather like this. He carried himself with a confident self-assurance. Right now, however, he looked exhausted, as if he'd been shouldering a burden all his life.

'Grandfather, is something wrong?'

'No, Alex, nothing's wrong. There's something you need to know. Something I haven't told you which I should have, long ago.'

Alexander glanced at Eliot. He was glaring at Grandfather, brows clenched together.

'Is this to do with the letter? I don't get it,' spoke Alexander. 'I mean, it was just a harmless joke.'

'No, it's not a joke, Alexander,' said Grandfather, distressed. 'It's real; you're a wizard.'

Alexander blinked. 'What? No, I'm not.'

The edge of Grandfather Laurent's mouth twitched upwards like it always did when he fought the urge to laugh. 'Yes, you are. And your mother was too. And so was I.'

Eliot voiced, 'He's not going to believe you just like that. You'll have to show him.'

'Show me what?'

The words were barely out of Alexander's mouth before his Grandfather reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out what seemed to be a stick. Alexander stared in disbelief when the teapot, that was firmly placed upon the table, levitated in the air.

' _Merde sacrée_.'

'Alexander!' scolded Eliot. 'Language.'

Grandfather Laurent waved his hand. 'It's alright. He's in shock.'

'But – but you work for the government,' blurted out Alexander.

Grandfather Laurent smirked. 'Yes, a form of government, certainly. It's called the Ministry of Magic.'

'Hold on, there's a Ministry? For magic? I thought you were a diplomat.'

'I still am, for the French Ministry.'

Alexander recalled something, his chest aching. 'Does this mean that – that my mother was also...'

Grandfather Laurent's features became grave as he nodded. 'Yes, your mother was also a witch. She possessed the same magic in her as I know you do.'

'Did you and mother go to that school – Hogforts?'

'Hogwarts,' corrected Grandfather. 'Your mother did. She was born in the UK. I, however, went to Beauxbatons, the school in France.'

Alexander scowled. 'Why didn't you tell this me before? Why wait until now?'

Grandfather Laurent's expression shifted, and his shoulders sagged; he finally looked his age. Alexander had never seen him so worn-down.

'When your mother died, I vowed to raise you away from the Wizarding World. Magic destroyed my daughter, you see, your mother, and I didn't want it to happen to you. I made a promise. A choice I now deeply regret.'

Alexander's anger rose. 'All this time you could have told me, but you didn't.'

'I know, my boy, I know. I sincerely apologise for it; I hope that one day you can forgive me. I foolishly thought that by keeping you away from magic, I could keep you away from danger.'

Alexander didn't trust himself to speak and felt a lump, the size of a golf ball, lodge itself in his throat.

'Alex.' It was Eliot's voice, warm and comforting. It was a soothing balm to Alexander.

'Did you know if my father was also a –'

Grandfather shook his head. 'No, and that is the truth of the matter. I am sorry to tell you, but we do not know who he is. Believe me, I begged your mother to tell me his name many times, but she refused. He could have been a wizard or a _non–magique_ for all we know.'

'A what?' asked Alexander, his curiosity emerging despite his turbulent feelings.

'Ah, yes, the term here is more commonly known as a muggle. It's what we call non-magical people,' answered his Grandfather.

'Oh.' Eliot lay a hand on Alexander's shoulder. 'Did you go to Hogwarts as well, Eliot?'

Eliot denied this. 'No, I can't do magic.'

'Are you a muggle?'

'No, I'm a squib. Someone born to a magical family, but I don't truly have any magic in me,' Eliot answered.

A sudden thought struck Alexander, his heart sinking. He wetted his lips. 'I don't know how to be a wizard. I can't do magic things.'

'Oh, they'll teach you, don't worry about that,' laughed Eliot. 'Everyone learns eventually.'

Alexander relaxed, before realising something. Both men stared at Alexander as he frowned thoughtfully.

'Is something wrong?' voiced Eliot.

'Yeah. How do I get a wand?'


	4. A Trip to Diagon Alley

Who knew there was a hidden magical world right in the middle of London? Alexander had explored the city for most of his life, through school trips or visits to view the landmarks where he was always accompanied by Eliot.

Two days later, after the revelation, Grandfather Laurent declared a trip to buy Alexander's school supplies. Eliot, however, wanted to wait a few days for Alexander to take in the news. Alexander dismissed this notion, claiming that he wanted to see more of the magical world, and neither Eliot nor Grandfather Laurent denied him. They must have felt guilty to have hidden the secret from him for so long.

'Are we going to get these from London, Grandfather,' asked Alexander as he read over the second parchment.

Grandfather Laurent was fixing his tie in the mirror. 'Of course. Today will be a quiet day. Not many people, hopefully. A majority tend to visit Diagon Alley towards the end of August.'

Alexander scrunched his nose, his tone sceptical. 'An alley? How do you put multiple shops in an alley? It won't fit.'

The first thing you have to learn is not to take everything at face value. Magic is full of contradictions.' Grandfather Laurent threw him a sly smirk. 'Do not worry, Alexander. You will see, today.'

Alexander and Grandfather Laurent rode in the BMW. They would have taken the Underground, but Grandfather Laurent stated that it would be easier to take the car, especially coming back. Grandfather instructed his driver to take them to Charing Cross Road.

As Alexander sat in the leather seat, he peered out of the window, watching the city go past. London greeted Alexander like an old reliable friend. Double-decker buses, black cabs, and grey clouds. It was past morning rush hour, so the roads were fairly free. They passed book shops, music stores, restaurants and cinemas. There was not a slight hint of a place that looked as if it could sell a magic wand. This was an ordinary city full of ordinary people. Were there shops that sold spell books and magic wands? He doubted his Grandfather or Eliot would lie to him; Grandfather never joked about anything, he was the most serious person Alexander knew.

'This is the place, Albert,' Grandfather addressed the driver. 'Just drop us off here.'

'Right you are, sir.'

The car came to a halt at the side of the road, and they both got out. Alexander glimpsed at his surroundings, confused.

Grandfather lay a hand on Alexander's shoulder and pointed with his finger. 'There it is. The Leaky Cauldron.'

If Grandfather had not pointed the place out, Alexander would not have noticed. In front was a small, grubby pub. It didn't look like the type of place Grandfather visited, not like the expensive pubs. The people on the pavement hurrying by did not look at it – the pub was invisible to them. Their eyes slid from Waterstones, the book shop, on one side, to the record shop on the other, as if they could not see the Leaky Cauldron at all. Perhaps they could not. Maybe he and Grandfather were the only people here who could see it.

Grandfather steered him inside. 'Come, Alexander.'

Inside, it was dark and shabby. Electricity must be a myth around here, thought Alexander wryly. There were square and circular tables scattered around the room. A group of old men were huddled around a corner drinking what looked like whiskey. Another bloke sat alone, glancing down at a newspaper while smoking a long pipe. The bartender was behind the counter - he was bald and toothless.

It was an unusual establishment and Grandfather Laurent seemed out of place with his dark blue suit and slicked-back hair, compared to the long robes and hats the people donned. They must have thought so too because, when Alexander and his Grandfather walked in, a few of them gaped at their clothing. Alexander locked eyes with the man smoking a pipe: the latter's droopy gaze bore unblinkingly into his own. Alexander's broke contact when the feeling of discomfort overwhelmed him.

The Bartender spoke up. 'What will it be, sir?'

Grandfather shook his head. 'Not today, thank you. I am here for my grandson.'

The Bartender slid his eyes down to Alexander. 'Muggleborn, I see. Not to worry, you'll fit right in.'

'He's not muggleborn.' Grandfather's voice was clipped and short. 'If you will excuse us.'

'Ah, of course, my apologies, sir,' said Tom.

Grandfather led him through the pub and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a rubbish bin and a few plants.

'Grandfather, that's just a mouldy old bin.'

'Patience, Alexander.'

Watch and wait was exactly what the confused boy did. Grandfather took out the same curved stick used to levitate the teapot – no, not stick, wand – and tapped the wall three times.

The brick he had touched quivered. In the middle, a small hole appeared, growing wider each millisecond. They were now facing an archway large enough for a person to walk through, which led onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Alexander's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. Amazement doesn't quite cover what he felt. It was like someone grabbed his spark of wonder and poured kerosene on it. _This must be what Jim Hawkins felt like when he saw Treasure Island_ he thought.

'Not just an alley, my boy.'

Alexander met his Grandfather's thin-lipped half-smile. They stepped through the archway. Alexander looked over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall. People dressed in cloaks and robes flocked the street, but Alexander did see a minority dressed in normal jeans and jackets as well.

Many peculiar shops and objects came in to view as Grandfather Laurent and Alexander walked up the streets. Grandfather Laurent walked slower for Alexander's benefit, who could not stop his eyes from flicking from place to place. Alexander wished, now more than ever, he had a spider's eight eyes. At least then he'd be able to see everything.

'Come on. We have to get the money from the bank. You can look afterwards.'

'Wizards have a bank?' Alexander's attention was caught. 'What like Barclays?'

'They have a bank, certainly. It's called Gringotts. How else are they supposed to get their money? Look.'

Yet, Grandfather did not need to point it out because they had reached a majestic building, indicating that this was Gringotts. The snowy building towered over the other little shops.

'G-Grandfather that's a – a –' Alexander could not get the words out because besides the bronze doors, dressed in a scarlet and gold uniform, was a goblin.

'A goblin. Don't fumble your words, Alexander. Speak clearly.'

Alexander flushed. They walked up white stone steps. The goblin had a sly face and a pointed beard. Alexander became startled as the goblin bowed while they passed. This is by far the weirdest thing I have seen, he thought. The second pair of silver doors had words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

The eerie inscribed words caused the dark-haired boy to shiver. 'They must have some serious tight security.'

'They do,' snorted Grandfather, 'I pity the fool who is stupid enough to steal from Gringotts.'

When they entered the vast marble hall, goblins encircled the place. Many were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling or examining jewels through an eyeglass. Numerous doors led off into the hall, in which goblins were steering people in and out of them. Grandfather Laurent did not bat an eyelash at the scene and walked straight up to the counter.

'Good morning, we are here to take out a certain amount of money from the Laurent vault. Vault 576.' Grandfather spoke in a clear, business-like tone.

The goblin squinted. 'You have the key, sir.' Grandfather held up a golden key. The goblin peered at it closely, possibly checking for fakes, then nodded. 'This way, sir. Rodlaff will show you to the vault.'

'Thank you. Come, Alexander.'

They were escorted to a narrow stone passageway that was lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward with tiny railway tracks on the floor. A small cart hurtled up the tracks when Rodlaff whistled. Grandfather beckoned Alexander to climb in, which he did with a slight hesitance. Surely this was safe, he thought. The cart seemed to have its own mind because Rodlaff was not steering; they travelled through twists and turns. Cold air rushed past them, and Alexander's hair whipped back.

Grandfather nudged him, directing his attention. 'There is your tight security.' An immense fire-breathing dragon lay in one passage.

Alexander's mouth dropped open. 'Woah…' But he didn't get a chance to properly examine the mythical creature because they left that particular passage. Alexander pouted at the denial to see the dragon.

Finally, they had reached a relatively decent-sized door in a section. Alexander watched as Rodlaff held the key and unlocked the door. Smoke came billowing out, and inside lay the treasure. Heaps of gold, silver, and bronze coins surrounded the room.

'Could we have a bottomless pouch, please,' Grandfather requested.

Rodlaff slowly assessed him. 'That will cost a fair amount.'

Grandfather accepted this and received what he had asked for.

'Alexander, I need your help with collecting the money. The gold ones are Galleons,' Grandfather explained. 'Seventeen silver Sickles is a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts is a Sickle. Understand?'

Alexander replied that he did and began to pick up the coins. When he placed a hoard of coins in the small pouch, however, the coins vanished. He leaned to glimpse inside but saw only a dark, never-ending vacuum.

After they had finished, Grandfather Laurent and Alexander stood outside. Grandfather placed the tiny pouch in his pocket. Alexander was eager to see what the shops had to offer. It was like standing in a sweet shop and having an unlimited browse at the sweets.

'We should get your uniform first,' asserted Grandfather. 'Madam Malkins is the best for that.'

The shop advertised robes of all different colours in the window. Tall, short, and medium robes of different materials. When the two entered the shop a friendly woman, dressed all in mauve, approached them, smiling. Alexander determined that this must be Madam Malkin.

'Hello,' greeted his Grandfather. 'We are here to get my grandson fitted for his robes.'

'Hogwarts, is it? Right, this way, please.'

Alexander followed the woman. He passed a chubby, tearful boy who trailed nervously behind a tall, austere woman in front. Alexander made eye-contact with the boy who ungracefully shuffled out of the shop.

Madam Malkin stood Alexander on a stool, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length. This was an odd process because as Madam Malkin browsed through the piles of robes, a measuring length wrapped itself around Alexander, completely by itself. Alexander reckoned it was best to not question things and just accept them as wonders of magic. Grandfather Laurent stood near the doorway, his posture straight and hands crossed behind his back. Grandfather was enjoying Alexander's reactions because every time something magical happened a delicate smirk curved his mouth.

They picked up a pewter cauldron next. Alexander was tempted to buy a solid gold one, but Grandfather shut the idea down swiftly: 'Absolutely not, Alexander. Money should not be wasted like that.' A set of scales was purchased for potion ingredients and a portable brass telescope. The apothecary was by far the most pungent smelling shop, a combination of rotten eggs and decayed cabbages. A variety of esoteric items were sold: jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling.

Alexander and Grandfather Laurent stood outside what Alexander considered the most magnificent place in Diagon Alley: the bookshop. He gawked in awe at the piles of books that were stacked outside.

'Close your mouth. It is not very becoming,' Grandfather retorted, though his eyes glinted mirth. 'I will meet you back here in an hour. I need to pick up a few things, so you will be on your own. Are you listening to me, Alexander?'

'Huh, oh, yes, Grandfather.'

'Good.'

Alexander entered the bookshop. The inside was even more magnificent than the outside. An hour did not seem like a long time, thought Alexander despondently. The shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books; books the size of postage stamps, in covers of silk or leather; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.

He first picked up the tomes needed for school, which came as a bundle. As he was browsing the aisles one book caught his eye: _Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian. Oh, I'm absolutely buying this, thought Alexander, as he flicked through the pages. There were curses which led to temporary hair loss, odours and other humiliating ones. A wide grin stretched across his face. He felt like an evil scientist. The things he could do with this.

A voice interrupted the pages of his thoughts. 'Excuse me, you're blocking the shelf.' A girl, shorter than him, stood scowling. She had a bossy sort of voice, bushy brown hair, and large front teeth.

Alexander shuffled out of the way. 'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise.'

The girl huffed disdainfully in response and moved past him to get a look at the bookshelf. Alexander stared at her, wondering if whether her mane had ever seen the end of a hairbrush before. Most of the girls from primary school had well-maintained hair, but this girl's hair was wild. Yet, in a good way which suited her.

'It rude to stare at people!' the girl snapped, turning to glare at him. 'Why do you keep looking at me.'

Alexander flushed crimson and flitted his eyes round. 'Sorry.'

The girl huffed.

They were silent for a few seconds before Alexander voiced, in a curious manner, 'Are you a first-year as well?' She was certainly small enough to be.

The girl frowned at being disturbed but, after hearing what he said, answered his question rather keenly. 'Yes, I am. It was rather a surprise, I must say, to get the letter from Hogwarts. Mum and Dad were simply baffled. We all thought it was a joke, of course, until Professor McGonagall came to show us that magic is real. I couldn't believe that I got chosen. I was delighted. It's supposed to be the best school there is for Witchcraft, I mean. I do want to read all there is to know. I'm quite worried I'm going to be behind everyone else, you see. They must have had years of practice.'

Alexander was startled. The girl had barely stopped to take a breath, and she'd said it all very fast. She must have broken some world record. He hung onto her every word, though. She may have been slightly loud and bossy but was perhaps the first friend he might have in the school. He wanted to make a good impression.

'I'd recommend you read _Hogwarts: A History_. It tells you everything about the school for beginners. It has fascinating insights into the history of the castle – '

The girl was cut off by a woman, her mother likely, who approached them. 'Have you finished, dear? Your dad's waiting.'

'I've got everything I need, mum.' The bushy-haired girl turned back to Alexander before she left. 'Well, see you at Hogwarts.'

'Yeah, definitely,' he grinned and watched them walk out of the shop.

That was interesting, he thought. Thinking about what the girl had said, he purchased the book she mentioned. Unfortunately, Grandfather Laurent had spotted him. The latter was displeased that he had to come to look for Alexander inside the shop as he'd accidentally forgotten to keep track of the time.

Alexander checked his list. 'Just my wand left.'

Grandfather hummed. 'Leave that last. We'll get you a pet first.'

Alexander exclaimed excitedly, 'Really I can have a pet.'

'Certainly, what do you fancy: an owl or a cat?'

'Not a toad?' Alexander raised an eyebrow.

'No, toads are out of fashion. Besides, you're a Laurent, you should have the best. Owls are great for delivering mail.'

Alexander thought for a moment before deciding. 'An owl.'

Grandfather Laurent laughed. Thirty minutes later, Alexander carried a large cage that held a brown owl with vivid amber eyes. He decided on the name Apollo. It was beautiful enough to be named after the Greek God.

'All that's left is your wand. We can get that from Ollivanders — the best place wand place in Britain.'

Alexander felt his heart jump. This was what he had been looking forward to. The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

'It will be better if you went alone,' said Grandfather Laurent.

'What. Why?'

'A wizard's first wand is a personal matter. Your mother went through it alone and so should you.'

Alexander was surprised at the casual mention of his mother. He was glad he was going through the same experience that she did; it made him feel connected to her, as odd as it sounded.

Grandfather Laurent gave him an encouraging pat, and Alexander stepped inside. A tinkling bell rang. It was a tiny place, practically empty. Alexander took in the thousands of slender boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. He swallowed. There was an eeriness in this place. Some secret hidden magic that was not seen to the common eye.

'Well, good morning, there,' said a soft voice spoke. It came from an old man, whose wide, pale eyes shone like crystals through the gloom of the shop.

'Hello,' said Alexander tentatively. 'I'm here to buy my wand.'

Mr Ollivander moved closer. Alexander did not move from his position.

'Yes, I hoped to see you, Mr Laurent. Why it seemed like it was only yesterday when Amelie Laurent was here buying her first wand.'

Alexander realised he hadn't given his name to the old man. 'You knew my mother.'

'Not personally, no, my dear boy. However, I saw her when she was a first-year like yourself. She had a rare wand. Cypress, I believe, eleven inches with a dragon heartstring core. Yes, your mother was a great witch. Highly intelligent and talented.'

Alexander shifted, feeling unnerved.

'But we are here to sell you a wand. Mr Laurent, which is your wand arm?'

'I'm ambidextrous,' said Alexander.

'Hold out your arms. That's it.' He measured Alexander from every part of his body. 'That will do,' he said. 'Right then. Try this one. Unicorn core and alder wood, twelve inches.'

Alexander took the wand and waved it around. Ollivander quickly snatched it out of his hand.

'No, absolutely not.'

This went on for a few minutes. Each wand Alexander was given, he waved it – feeling silly – and each time Ollivander snatched it. Strangely though, the old man was not irritated.

'Now, Mr Laurent, let's try this one. Rowan wood with dragon heartstring. Eleven inches.'

Alexander took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of sparks shot from the end like a firework.

Ollivander cried in delight, 'Oh, very good.' He put Alexander's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper. 'Here you go, Mr Laurent. I can expect to see many great things from you.'

Alexander thanked the man and left the shop; he was quite relieved to be out in the sunshine.

Grandfather Laurent was waiting. 'Finished. Good, let's go. We can grab food along the way for lunch. It is a good thing we bought the car to carry all these things.'


	5. Bon Voyage

Alexander spent the rest of the summer holidays reading his school books. These were far from the mundane muggle textbooks involving maths or science – they were the entry to actual magic.

Apollo, his new owl, kept him company. Apollo swooped in and out of the open window, catching his food, much to Eliot's relief. He was a quiet owl who loved the attention he'd get when Alexander stroked him. His amber eyes were dark and soulful, and his ear-like tufts were reminiscent of a teddy bear.

Alexander was intrigued; the spell books had a vice-like grip on his mind, its reality began to distort his own, challenging the once normal facts of his existence, bringing him into a new turbulent realm where even his sense of self was continuously challenged. He mostly lay on his bed reading late into the night – without Grandfather's knowledge – or on his study desk.

Toward the end of August, Alexander had mostly read the books. He had learned the theory of the most basic spells; he realised that magic was far more complex than simply waving a wand around and saying the words – it was about intent and will. _Magical Theory_ , in particular, gave a basic outline of how spells work. The book sought to demystify the practice of magic, covering topics such as what made spells work, energy transfer during spellcasting and the wand's role in channelling it. Alexander poured over these pages, recognising that the wand was simply a way to channel the magic – the real magic came from inside the witch or wizard.

Memorisation had never been his method of learning. It took quite a while for Alexander to grasp certain concepts as, though he could retain information quickly, he had to work hard to gain a fully rounded understanding.

The other books were fairly straightforward in recording the various types of spells that existed and their wand movements. Charms were mainly useful everyday spells that would be, Alexander wistfully remarked, beneficial in helping with chores or everyday activities. Transfiguration, however, appeared to be tricky. After Alexander finished the first _Standard Book of Spells_ , Apollo set off for the first delivery. The letter was addressed to Flourish and Blotts and Alexander asked if whether the shop did owl-post delivery and, if so, whether he could order the next set of books. Apollo was excited as the letter was tied to his leg because he gave Alexander a gentle nudge.

To Alexander's surprise, other forms of magic required plants and potions. Though he was never much of a Gardener, the different types of plants documented in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ caused him to second guess his interest. Potions seemed like much of it was similar to adhering to a recipe. Alexander didn't think he'd have too much trouble following a list of instructions as he and Eliot spent most time baking and cooking.

One thing he was disappointed to discover was that he couldn't practice the spells he had learnt. Alexander knew the theory side but performing was something he did not know. Grandfather informed him that students were not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, not until Alexander was seventeen.

When September 1st arrived, Alexander's excitement was almost tangible. He barely slept the night before, his mind racing with the anticipation of the morning. Grandfather made him sleep early because Alexander had a long journey ahead.

The morning of the day dawned bright and early. Alexander decided to wear jeans and a jacket rather than his school robes because he might be slightly conspicuous to the public – he'd change on the train. Surely, they would have private compartments. Alexander checked his Hogwarts list yet again to ensure he had everything he needed and verified that Apollo was shut safely in his cage.

After a heavy breakfast, cooked by Eliot, Alexander's trunk was loaded into the boot of the BMW by Grandfather Laurent. Both Eliot and Grandfather accompanied Alexander to the train station. Grandfather Laurent wore a black suit that Alexander hadn't seen before.

They arrived at King's Cross Station at 10:15. Grandfather had wanted to get there early in case of traffic. Grandfather helped Alexander place his heavy trunk and Apollo's cage onto a trolley and wheeled it into the station. Alexander reckoned Grandfather must have done some type of spell on the luggage because the people around them hardly glanced at Apollo; they glimpsed at the trolley but their eyes darted over, without a change in expression. They probably thought it was a normal suitcase like any other.

Alexander pulled the train ticket, which had been included in his acceptance letter, out from his jacket pocket, being extra careful not to rip it.

'Grandfather, this ticket says I have to take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock,' he read. 'But that must be a mistake because there's no such platform.'

The number of times Alexander and Eliot travelled past King Cross St. Pancreas meant that the boy was one hundred per cent positive that no such platform existed. He stared at the scene in front. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a number ten next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all. _Unless this must be like Diagon Alley_.

'Figured it out, have you?' Grandfather smirked.

Alexander shrugged. 'Involves some sort of magic, I think. Someplace the muggles won't see.'

'You're on the right lines. You see that barrier,' he pointed. 'All you have to do is walk straight at it between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop, that's the most important thing.'

Eliot laughed, thoroughly amused at the old man's short explanation.

Alexander gaped. 'Let me get this straight. You want me to run head-first at a brick wall and not stop.'

'Yep, that sounds about right,' grinned Eliot.

'It's completely safe.'

'Yes, running into a brick wall sounds perfectly safe, no doubt about it,' Alexander said.

Grandfather frowned. 'You won't crash if that's what you're worried about.'

Eliot offered to go. 'Look, I'll do it first and you can follow after me. How does that sound?'

'I thought squibs and muggles couldn't get onto a magical platform?' asked a confused Alexander.

'Technically speaking, they can't do magic,' answered his Grandfather. 'But they can get onto the platform. How else are parents supposed to accompany their children?'

Satisfied with this explanation, Alexander agreed, waiting to see Eliot's demonstration. The latter marched toward platforms nine and ten. Alexander was careful not to blink in case he missed it. Eliot was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he vanished. There was no trace of him whatsoever.

'You see, Alexander. It's perfectly safe. Now you try it.'

Alexander swallowed but did not protest. He hated for his Grandfather to think he was afraid, and, most of all, Alexander didn't want to disappoint him. He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. _Putain d'enfer, did that look solid_ , he internally remarked. He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to platform nine and ten. Leaning forward on his trolley, he sped up, his heart racing as he came closer. He closed his eyes ready for the crash: but it didn't happen.

He opened his eyes. Eliot was beaming and waving at him.

'Yes! I knew you could do it.'

Alexander smiled, relieved to be on the other side. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people; tall, short, gangly, slender and plump people. Many were huddled in groups or single pairs. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Behind him was a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

Grandfather appeared on the platform. 'Simple and easily done, you see.' He took the trolley from Alexander then glanced at his gold wristwatch, which gleamed in the sun's glow. 'Come, we'll place your trunk on the train before it's too late.'

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families. Alexander raced ahead of Eliot and Grandfather in search of an empty seat. He overheard a tall, blonde woman and man talking to a pale-faced boy with a pointed chin. Alexander thought he resembled a ferret.

'You have all your stuff, Draco.'

'Yes, mother.' The pale-faced boy's voice was slow and drawling.

Further down the platform, a boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

'I have it right here.' The boy held a box in his arms, looking rather pleased.

The crowd gasped in wonder. 'Let us have a look, Lee. Oh, go on.'

Alexander would have liked to stop and see what unknown wonder lay inside the box, but he didn't get a chance to because his attention was caught by an empty compartment towards the middle of the train. He waved to his Grandfather and Eliot who were further behind.

Grandfather placed Apollo's cage into his hand so he could go first, then heaved the trunk on the compartment. Eliot offered to do it himself, but Grandfather wouldn't hear of it. He was stubborn like that.

'Now, listen to me, Alexander. I want you to behave yourself,' began Grandfather sternly. 'Work hard, practise your magic, and do your homework.'

'Steady on,' said an amused Eliot, 'the boy's only just got on the train. 'You'll be expecting him to shoot flames off his wand soon.'

Alexander's eyes widened. 'I can learn how to do that.'

'Eliot was just joking. If you want to learn then yes, I suppose you can. Not this year, though. You'll be starting simple.'

'I think what he's trying to say, Alexander, is to enjoy yourself and make lots of friends,' Eliot interjected.

Grandfather nodded. 'Yes, that too. All right, my boy, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there. And don't forget to tell us if you're coming home for Christmas.'

Alexander's mouth ran dry, and an ache filled his chest. He was going to miss the only family he had known since birth. He fought the glistening tears that threatened to emerge by taking a sharp inhale.

'I will, Grandfather.'

Grandfather Laurent's features softened. 'Well, this is goodbye.' He placed a hand on Alexander's shoulder and gave it a gentle pat. 'And remember that you are a Laurent. Be proud of yourself.'

Eliot reached out and clasped him tightly, his arms as shields of love – a warm and affectionate hug. Alexander wrapped his arms around, and the scent of fresh laundry drifted through his nostrils. Eliot appeared emotional.

'I'm going to miss you, Alex. Be good and enjoy yourself, okay. Now, go on before the train leaves.'

Alexander clambers on and looks out of the window. Before they left, Grandfather gave him the pouch of money from Gringotts; it was to last him the whole year. Alexander placed the tiny pouch in his jacket pocket as the train began to move. Eliot and Grandfather begin waving, Eliot arms wide like a windmill while Grandfather's farewell was restrained. It was an image Alexander kept in his mind as the train rounded the corner and the two men disappeared. Houses flashed past the window. Alexander exhaled. He felt a great leap of excitement. He couldn't wait to see what will happen.

He sat back comfortably in his seat, wishing he had brought his Walkman with him. Grandfather informed him that technology and electronics did not function properly at Hogwarts, so it would have been a waste of trunk space. Which was a real shame because he could have listened to some music right now to calm his nerves.

Giggles sounded from outside the compartment and three girls walked past the glass door. They didn't look like first years, and Alexander's hopes were dashed when they walked straight past. He could have done with some friends. He recalled the bushy-haired girl from Flourish and Blotts and hoped that she was on the train, but before Alexander could get up to explore, the compartment door slid open.

Two flame-haired twins entered and grinned at Alexander.

The taller twin spoke. 'Well, what do we have here.'

'An ickle first year, would you believe it? Sat all by himself.'

'So –'

'What's your name, firste?' finished the other.

Alexander was entertained throughout this interaction.

'I'm Alexander Laurent. Delighted to make your acquaintance.'

'Please to meet you, Alex,' they both chimed.

'I'm Fred, and this is George.'

'No, I'm George and that's Fred,' said the other.

Alexander laughed and a wicked idea occurred to him. He stared at the two seriously.

'Ah, this must the two infamous twins I was warned about in my letter.' He rummaged through his pocket and pulled it out. 'Yes, it clearly states here to stay away from a pair of twins with red hair and to not accept anything that they offer.'

'George, I think our reputation had preceded us.'

'Fred, I thought the same thing. Who knew old McGonagall had it in her.'

Alexander couldn't hold the urge to laugh anymore and burst out in loud guffaws. The twins looked at him in surprise.

'Do you know what Fred? I think we've been had.'

'By an ickle first-year as well.'

The compartment door slid open for the second time. A deep feminine voice rang out.

'Oi, you two. Pack it in and leave the first year alone.'

'Jennings, what a pleasure,' smirked George.

The girl, Jennings, pushed a trunk inside the compartment. She had dark brown skin and hair. She wore a jean jacket over a t-shirt that had a band's name on it which Alexander did not recognise. She had multiple rings all over her fingers. Alexander thought she looked cool.

'Do you mind if I sit here,' she said, 'everywhere else is full.'

'Not at all. Please come in.'

'Thanks,' she said.

'So Alex,' chimed George. 'This may be the start of a beautiful friendship.'

'But don't think we won't get you back for that,' smirked Fred.

'Sure,' Alexander said. 'Whatever you say.'

The twins grinned impishly at him, bid goodbye to the girl and left the compartment, probably causing more trouble.

'I've never heard or seen the Weasley twins make a promise to prank someone.' The girl had her eyebrows lifted over a magazine.

Alexander shrugged but didn't say anything.

'I'm Nia Jennings,' she introduced. 'Second-year student.'

'Alexander Laurent.'

'Thought of what house you'd be in?'

Alexander replied that he hadn't. Grandfather Laurent had only told Alexander the basics of the Hogwarts Houses, as he had not attended the school himself.

'I'm a Hufflepuff, myself. House of the badger and all that,' Nia smirked. 'Ravenclaw is known for their wit and intelligence, Gryffindor for their bravery and chivalry, and Slytherin for their cunning and leadership skills.' Nia frowned. 'Many people don't like Slytherin very much because they all think everyone there is a dark wizard.'

'That seems very judgemental,' Alexander commented.

'Yes, it is. What a load of old _shite_!' Nia snorted. 'An entire house can't all be considered bad. I mean, my best friend, Helen, that's her name, by the way, she's in Slytherin, and she's, like, the nicest human being I've ever met. An angel more like. She could do no wrong.'

'I seem to have the opinion that most people are stupid,' Alexander stated.

Nia peered at him curiously. 'You're okay, Laurent.'

A warmth feeling blossomed in his chest. This school won't be so bad. He may have found a friend.

'Is she not here on the train with you? Helen, I mean.'

'She is, but she wanted to be with this boy that she liked in another compartment.' Nia looked displeased, her brows furrowed and her eyes stormy. She changed the subject. 'So, what are you most looking forward to?'

'Um, the classes, I suppose.'

Nia nodded. 'They're interesting, apart from History of Magic. It's run by Professor Bins, who's basically a ghost, and his voice puts you to sleep.'

Alexander was alarmed. 'A ghost?'

'Oh, yes, ghosts,' Nia laughed. 'Don't worry though, they're harmless.'

They were now far from London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. Both children were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past. Nia flicked through her magazine while Alexander read his book that he took out of the trunk.

At around half-past twelve, there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman and said, 'Anything off the trolley, dears?'

Nia requested something called liquorice wands which didn't look very appealing. He hated anything that tasted of liquorice.

'What would you recommend?' he addressed the trolley lady.

'If you're new to them, Bertie's Every Flavour Beans is a good starting point,' replied the lady.

He accepted and paid the lady. He walked back to his seat, staring inquisitively at the pack of sweets in his hand.

'Careful,' uttered Nia, 'they mean every flavour.'

Surely, they wouldn't put anything like poison in there. Deciding to take a risk, he placed a brown one in his mouth and immediately regretted it. It was dog food. He heard Nia laughing in the background. A black one tasted like an Earl Grey while a pink one was tutti-fruity. Alexander liked the risk and decided it was money well-spent.

Alexander decided to put his uniform on and made Nia step into the corridor as he got changed. He did the same when she had to change as well. Unexpectedly, the rings stayed on and her yellow tie lay loose around her neck. It was a fit that suited her.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a girl walked in; a familiar girl who had big, unruly hair that fell in short, dark curls onto her shoulders. She already wore the robes assigned for Hogwarts.

'Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one,' she said.

'You're the girl from the bookshop,' exclaimed Alexander before he could stop himself.

The girl's features shifted as she recognised him. 'Oh, yes. How do you do? I didn't get a chance to introduce myself last time. I'm Hermione Granger, and you are?'

'Alexander Laurent.' He stretched out a hand in greeting which she shook. 'It's great to see you again, Hermione.'

'So, have either of you seen a toad?'

Nia responded that she hadn't.

'No, we haven't,' said Alexander apologetically. 'But I can help you look for it.' He turned towards Nia, and the latter shrugged before shifting her attention back to her magazine.

Hermione eagerly accepted the help and thanked him. They met up with a chubby boy who looked on the verge of tears. Alexander recognised him as the boy he saw in Madam Malkins.

'Hermione, I still can't find him,' he wailed. 'What am I going to tell Gran?'

'Not to worry, Neville,' she assured him. 'Alexander and I will look for it as well. It's bound to turn up.'

Neville nodded glumly. The three of them entered a compartment that had two boys inside. One was a tall, gangly boy with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose. He had the same red hair as the twins. The other was a boy so small and awkward that Alexander almost thought it was an eight-year-old child who'd accidentally wandered onto the train. The messy-haired boy had broken glasses and a strange lightning bolt scar across his forehead. His clothes were several sizes too big; he was fidgeting nervously and looked startled as the three of them entered.

'Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one,' Hermione inquired.

The red-haired boy appeared disgruntled. 'We've already told him we haven't seen it.'

'Will you keep an eye out just in case and let us know,' Alexander remarked and the two boys nodded.

Hermione was peering at the wand in the red-haired boy's hand. 'Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then.'

She took a seat. The boy looked taken aback. Alexander wondered how the boy could do magic outside of school. Yet, he had a slight hunch that it meant trouble, especially if the twins were involved.

'Er — all right.' The boy cleared his throat. 'Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.'

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The fat rat on his lap remained grey and fast asleep.

 _Well then_ , thought Alexander, _seems like my hunch was right_.

Hermione did not seem impressed. 'Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

The two boys looked stunned and looked worriedly at each other. Alexander bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't think it would be appropriate to laugh in this situation.

'I'm Ron Weasley,' the red-haired boy muttered.

'Harry Potter,' said the short child.

Hermione's eyes widened. 'Are you really? I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.'

'Am I?' Harry appeared dazed.

'Goodness didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me,' said Hermione.

Alexander felt bewildered. Was he missing something?

'I don't want to be rude,' he spoke up and the group's attention turned towards him. 'Truly I don't, but is Harry Potter not just a name? That's you I'm guessing.'

Ron glanced incredulously at him and even Hermione seemed astonished. Alexander felt self-conscious and fought the urge to tug on the collar of his shirt.

'Are you mental?' blurted out Ron. 'You don't know who Harry Potter is?'

'No, am I supposed to?' he pondered.

'He defeated You-Know-Who when he was only a baby, and he has the scar to prove it,' Ron went on.

Alexander blinked slowly. 'Sorry, who?'

'You-Know-Who.'

'No, that's what I'm asking, _who_?'

Harry spoke up in a subdued tone. He looked uncomfortable. 'He means Voldemort.'

As soon as Harry said that the train compartment fell into a terrified hush. Ron went pale and his freckles became more prominent; Hermione squeaked and Neville looked on the verge of tears.

Alexander assessed Harry Potter. Were they telling him that this boy, who looked like one punch could cut the life short from his frail body, defeated someone who was a baby? How can a baby defeat anyone?

'Voldemort,' repeated Alexander.

'Shush,' hissed Ron. 'Don't say the name. What's wrong with you?'

Harry shrugged in response. Alexander had never been in a weirder situation in his life. This truly took the cake. All this fuss over a name.

'No offence, but that's the most ridiculous name I've ever heard.'

Hermione gasps. Ron was horrified – his mouth resembled a fish.

Alexander sighed. 'Whatever. Look, not being able to say a name, it genuinely sounds like a _you_ problem.'

Ron opened his mouth, looking as if he were about to argue when Hermione interjected.

'We don't have time for this. We'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon.'

She left with Neville in tow, who seemed glad to be out of the compartment.

'We never got your name,' said Harry.

Alexander turned round. 'Oh, I'm Alexander Laurent.'

Harry smiled.

Alexander addressed Ron. 'Say, ginger, you wouldn't happen to be related to a pair of twins called Fred and George, would you?'

Ron's facial expression turned glum. His voice became subdued. 'Oh, met them, have you. Course you have.'

'Yes, I have. A right pair of pranksters they are. Don't worry, I managed to get them back.'

Ron's eyes widened in disbelief, stunned beyond disbelief. 'Wait, that was you? They kept talking about it, but I never realised it was you.'

'Pleased to meet you too.' Alexander glanced at his wristwatch. 'You know, Hermione was right, we are nearly approaching and you two do need to change.'

'Thanks for telling us,' said Harry. 'It was nice meeting you.' His voice rang out as Alexander left the compartment.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Hermione and Alexander failed to find Trevor, the toad, on the train. Neville looked depressed but cheered up when Alexander offered him the last remaining pack of jelly beans. Hermione smiled in gratitude at him.

A voice echoed through the train: 'We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.'

'Come on, let's go,' gestured Alexander to the two.

They joined the crowd thronging the corridor. Though Alexander was taller than his two friends, he still struggled to see over the heads of some of the upper years who towered over them. Alexander scowled particularly at a tall, heavy bloke – a fifth-year presumably – in blue robes who jostled and almost knocked Hermione to the ground.

'Watch it!' Alexander yelled, gripping Hermione's arm to steady her.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. The frigid, evening air caused Alexander to shiver. The sun was a distant memory. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a gentle voice rang: 'Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry? C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!'

A giant of a man (if he could be called a man) appeared; he had a long mane of shaggy, unkempt hair that covered the majority of his face.

Slipping and stumbling, they followed the giant man down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Alexander worried that he was going to fall and break his neck. Not many people spoke much. Neville sniffed once or twice.

'Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here.'

A girl with a braid let out a loud, 'Oooooh!'

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Alexander's jaw dropped open. He knew he was never going to see a sight more magnificent as the one before him.

'No more'n four to a boat!' the giant man called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into a boat by Neville and Hermione.

Alexander joined a boat with a girl with a braid, a dark-skinned boy and his friend, and a burly-looking boy.

'Everyone in?' shouted the giant, who had a boat all to himself. 'Right then — forward!'

The fleet of little boats moved, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

'Heads down!' Alexander ducked as the boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel until they reached an underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

'Oy, you there! Is this your toad?' asked the giant man.

'Trevor!' cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands.

Alexander smiled, pleased that his friend had finally found his pet.

They clambered up a passageway in the rock, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

'Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?'

A gigantic fist raised and three knocks sounded on the castle door. Alexander swallowed. This was it.


	6. A Talking Hat

The door swung open at once, and the students entered the castle. Alexander felt at ease after the heat from inside replaced the bitter chill of the evening air. Judging by the expressions of his fellow students, he saw that most of them felt the same.

A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood in front of them. She had a very stern face which reminded Alexander of his Grandfather, indicating that she would tolerate no misbehaviour. He definitely would not want to be on her bad side.

'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,' said the giant man.

A brisk Scottish accent cut through. 'Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.'

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so large that several houses in Notting Hill could have fit inside it like a jigsaw piece. It was slightly intimidating for the first years. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to view, and a splendid marble staircase led to the upper floors. _It's only the entrance, and it's already better than the whole of Buckingham Palace_.

Yet, the castle was also outdated. If Hogwarts were taken and placed in the middle of a field during the Middle Ages, the people at the time would hardly bat an eyelash as it would resemble any old medieval castle.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. The murmur of multiple voices from behind a doorway resonated. The rest of the school must already have sat down. Alexander thought they were going through those doors, but Professor McGonagall gestured for them to enter a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing closer together than they would usually have done, wide-eyed and anxious. Alexander stood near Hermione and Neville; Hermione had the straightest posture that Alexander had ever seen from any child and even some adults. She listened to Professor McGonagall with rapt attention, eager to prove herself. Alexander didn't think she even blinked. Neville, on the other hand, appeared as if he'd rather be anywhere but here.

'Welcome to Hogwarts,' said Professor McGonagall. 'The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses.'

Alexander felt his stomach rumble. A feast – now they were talking. The jelly beans on the train had scarcely fulfilled him and the meal Eliot cooked this morning was so long ago.

'The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.'

Alexander frowned worriedly. What if he didn't get on with the rest of the people in his House? He peeked at Hermione from the corner of his eye. Alexander prayed he'd get in the same house as her. At least then they'd both, though briefly, know each other. Although, he supposed he wouldn't mind if he were sorted into any of the Houses. Hufflepuff had Nia Jennings, the girl he met on the train, but she was a second-year; they wouldn't have the same classes today. Nia had told him that Slytherin was an unfavourable House for the majority. But how can people judge someone entirely on what House they sorted in to? It just didn't make any sense. Surely a person is more than just their House?

'The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards.'

Professor McGonagall's explanation solidified Alexander's feelings: he didn't mind what House he would be sorted into. They all sounded good enough for him.

Her speech then went on to explain the concept of House points. She described that a single House was awarded a grand cup towards the end of the year and what a great honour it would be. Alexander was somewhat disappointed. All those points and a mere cup was the reward. He expected something exciting. It was mundane for a school that was meant to be magic.

She finished off with remarking, 'The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.'

Alexander watched in amusement as her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's, the ginger kid, smudged nose. Harry, the short child, desperately tried to flatten his hair, though it might have been a lost cause. Alexander shook his head; he had seen bird nests that were tidier than Harry's hair.

'Neville, your cloak,' whispered Alexander.

Neville glanced at him, bewildered until he realised what Alexander was pointing towards and blushed in embarrassment. 'Oh, thank you, Alexander.'

Hermione glared at them for having the audacity to talk during Professor McGonagall's speech. Alexander shrugged sheepishly. She huffed and whirled back around.

'I shall return when we are ready for you,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Please wait quietly.' She left the chamber.

An idea occurred to him. His tone had a tinge of worry in it. 'Hey Hermione, how exactly do they sort us into Houses?'

She bit her lip thoughtfully. 'I reckon there's going to be a sort of test. Something to test us on our knowledge of magic.'

'Already?' Alexander raised an eyebrow. 'But we've only just got in the door.'

But Hermione had stopped listening to him. She began rapidly whispering about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which ones she'd need. Alexander rehearsed the spells he knew. He hadn't memorised them by heart like the bushy-haired girl, but he knew enough to reiterate them if needed for a test. Besides, it can't be that hard, right? They had come here to _learn_ magic. He mentally patted himself on the back for reading over the summer. God help the poor soul who hadn't. The only worry Alexander possessed, however, was not being able to demonstrate the spells with a wand. _Damn that stupid rule_ , he grumbled and not for the first time.

He overheard Ron telling Harry about fighting during the test. Alexander paused. Fighting? But what did they have to fight? A person or a creature? Whatever it was, Alexander promised that if spells weren't enough, he could always fight the muggle way with pure fists and sheer will.

His fellow first years looked panicked. No one was talking to each other, and all that echoed in the chamber was Hermione's whisperings. Neville looked positively green. Alexander nudged him and gave him an encouraging pat. The chubby boy weakly smiled back.

Alexander glanced at his watch, then fixed his eyes on the door. He wished Professor McGonagall would hurry back and lead them to whatever it was they had to do to get sorted, so he could get to the feast. Assuming there still was a feast, of course, and he wasn't a pile of bones.

Then something happened that made several people behind him scream. He whipped around to encounter an unusual sight.

'What the — ?'

The first years gasped. About twenty ghosts had streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at them. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: 'Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —'

 _That medieval theme is consistent_ , Alexander thought wryly. He didn't know what to expect. It wasn't as if he sees ghosts every day. They looked like people expect their transparency.

'My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and, you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?'

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had quickly noticed the first years.

Alexander saw that nobody answered and therefore opted to speak up. Several eyes swivelled round to him.

'We're waiting for the sorting.'

The Fat Friar beamed at him, and it was so contagious that Alexander couldn't help but to smile back.

'Ah, new students! Of course, of course,' said the Fat Friar. 'What's your name, dear boy?'

'Alexander,' he answered.

'Good to see you, Alexander. I do hope you feel welcome here.' The Friar turned towards the rest of the first years who jumped at his address. 'Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know.'

'Move along now,' McGonagall's sharp voice rang out. 'The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.'

 _Yes, finally_. She had returned. Alexander was sorry to see the ghosts float away through the opposite wall. He'd have liked to have known them. Hopefully, he has a chance later.

'Now, form a line,' Professor McGonagall instructed, 'and follow me.'

Alexander got in the queue behind Hermione and before Neville. Oddly enough, the scent of vanilla shampoo wafted from her thick hair. It was somewhat dizzying. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

A splendid sight graced his eyes, one that almost rivalled his first glance of Hogwarts, when it was lit up in the night sky. The Great Hall, so fitting a name, was struck by many candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. Alexander sighed. The magical world certainly hadn't been exposed to electricity, though he supposed it wouldn't be half as remarkable if lightbulbs hung instead. It didn't exactly scream jaw-dropping. If anything, it'd be a fire hazard. The tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. Alexander wondered if it was real gold.

At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the group there, so that they came to a halt in a singular line, facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The eager heads craning to get a peek at them was daunting. Alexander scoured the faces until he spotted Nia among them. He raised his arm to wave at her. People swivelled round in curiosity, trying to find exactly who he was waving at. Nia shrunk in her seat but waved a hand back, donning an embarrassed smile. A few people snickered. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

Hermione brought her head closer to him to whisper, 'Look at the ceiling.'

Alexander did as she instructed and felt his mouth drop. A velvety black ceiling was dotted with stars.

'It's bewitched to look like the sky outside,' said a pleased Hermione. 'I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.'

Alexander nodded, recalling the same fact he read. Quite frankly, it was doubtful to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens. He wouldn't be shocked if Zeus' face suddenly loomed over them.

As he looked down, Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she placed a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched, tattered, and filthy. What in the world? Were they going to make them conjure a rabbit out of a hat? He had seen it happen once when Eliot took him to a magic show in London. The magician had placed his hand in a black top hat and out popped a rabbit chewing on a carrot. The show also included a bunch of card tricks. But that had all been illusionary. This had to be real.

Everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, and he watched it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat began to sing:

'Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!'

Alexander grimaced. The hat sang off-key at times, but it was a good song overall. The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its melody. It bowed to each table and then became still again. So, this hat was meant to determine their sorting; they just had to put the hat on. He smirked as he heard Ron telling Harry about a troll. The twins were truly physical forms of trouble. Grandfather would have disproved of them.

Professor McGonagall stepped forwards holding a long roll of parchment. 'When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,' she said. 'Abbott, Hannah!'

It was tough having a surname that was first on the alphabet. Hannah was a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails who approached the hat, and when Hannah placed it on her head, it fell over her eyes.

There was a moment's pause before the hat declared, 'HUFFLEPUFF!'

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down. The Fat Friar waved happily at her.

Similarly, 'Bones, Susan' was also sorted into Hufflepuff and Susan joined the seat next to Hannah. 'Boot, Terry' and 'Brocklehurst, Mandy', however, become Ravenclaws. Several people on the table second from the left shook hands with the two. 'Brown, Lavender' became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. The twins broke out into catcalls. 'Bulstrode, Millicent', a stocky-looking girl became a Slytherin. Alexander glanced curiously at that table. They certainly didn't seem evil, thus proving Nia's point. A pretty blonde-haired girl at the edge of the Slytherin table appeared friendly; the girl clapped for everyone with a carefree glow, even for those not in her House. She must be Helen – Nia's best friend.

Sometimes, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. 'Finnigan, Seamus', the sandy-haired boy who shared a boat with Alexander, took a while until he became a Gryffindor.

When Hermione's name was called, Alexander heard her small, panicked squeak before she practically ran towards the stool and jammed the hat excitedly on her head. Alexander couldn't blame her. He'd be eager to know where he would be sorted as well, simply because of the ache in his stomach. The hat shouted out, 'GRYFFINDOR!' Alexander frowned disapprovingly at Ron as the boy groaned in displeasure. That was a bit rude, he thought. Hermione may have been bossy but she was just excited.

Then, 'Laurent, Alexander' was finally called out by the Professor who gazed strictly at him. Alexander took a deep breath to steady his nerves and approached the stool. He gave a half-smile at Neville who threw a small 'good luck' at him. He swallowed with difficulty. Having hundreds of eyes on him was nerve-racking, and his stomach fluttered wildly. He met Hermione's eyes on the Gryffindor table who gave him an encouraging nod. Feeling bolder, he placed the hat firmly on his head and waited.

A small voice spoke in his head and it took all of Alexander's will to keep from jumping from the stool. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of the whole school – they'd be no going back from that.

'Well, who do we have here now. Ah, a Laurent, I see. It's been a while since I sorted the first Laurent.'

Alexander felt his heart jump. His nerves were far from his mind now.

His spoke back in his mind. 'My mother was the first Laurent, yes?'

The hat laughed, surprising him. 'This is extremely refreshing. A student who finally talks back. Oh, it's been a while since I've had one of those. The last boy to talk back to me was certainly eager to know everything there was about magic. It's truly a shame that most miss out on the opportunity.'

'Oh, I suppose many are too either too afraid or nervous to speak.'

'Yes, you're completely right, Mr Laurent. First years are particularly full of nerves. Only a few speak back.'

Alexander took a deep breath, steeling himself. 'If – if it's not _too_ much trouble, can I ask what House you sorted my mother in?' This was his chance to know more about his mother, and he was quick to grasp the given opportunity.

'Yes, a remarkably clever and brave girl, was Miss Laurent. She had plenty of talent and a keen thirst to prove herself. She had all the qualities of a Ravenclaw.'

Alexander smiled warmly and couldn't help a grin from rising. His mother was clever and witty. A feeling of joy filled him due to the information he'd discovered. It was another piece that he could add to the collection of what he knew about her.

'Thank you. May I ask what your name is? Surely you have one?' Alexander asked out of interest.

'I suppose, Mr Laurent, you can call me Brian.'

'Nice to meet you, Brian.'

'But we are here to sort you, Mr Laurent.'

A babble of voices broke out from the students. Alexander realised that he'd been sat on the stool longer than Seamus Finnegan had.

'Hmm, there's plenty of loyalty and talent. Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that. A sharp and clever mind while we're at it. You're very similar to your mother in many ways, Mr Laurent. But your courage and bravery – oh my. There's only one place that will help you reach your potential, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

As the hat shouted out the last word, the table broke out in roars. The twins whistled raucously, creating deafening hoots. Alexander was surprised. He would have loved to be in the same house as his mother, but he was judged to be a Gryffindor. He walked over to the table where a tall, gangly redhead got up to shake his hand. Another Weasley probably, he thought.

'Welcome to Gryffindor, Mr Laurent.'

His voice sounded very pompous, but, despite this, Alexander grasped his hand and gave him a firm handshake. Grandfather had taught him that it was better to give a confident and strong grasp to someone because it sets your character to others. He nodded and took a seat next to Hermione who smiled at him. The Weasley twins leaned over to pat his shoulder, grinning at him. He caught Nia's eye from the Hufflepuff table who raised a hand in welcome.

He turned his attention back to the rest of the sorting. Neville was next, and when he was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. Alexander winced. _Trust it to happen to Neville_ , he thought and glared at two third-year boys who jeered cruelly at his friend. As Neville was declared a Gryffindor, he ran still wearing the hat. Alexander gestured at this, causing Neville to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal, Morag.'

The ferret-faced boy, he'd seen on the platform, swaggered towards the stool when his name was called. He was placed in Slytherin, along with his muscle-set friends, Crabbe and Goyle, smirking as he took a seat across from Helen.

There weren't many people left now. Alexander wished they'd hurry up – his appetite was starting to become unbearable now. He had tuned out the next few minutes of sorting until 'Potter, Harry' brought his attention back. The hall erupted into whispers like little hissing fires.

'Potter, did she say?'

 _'The_ Harry Potter?'

Alexander felt sorry for Harry. It was bad enough being up there without anyone knowing who you were but people clamouring to get a view of you must be the most unpleasant experience ever. Including the time when he had to show Grandfather his school report when he barely scraped maths. He'd hate to be in Harry's shoes – the boy did look rather pale. The hall held its breath as Harry put the hat on his head. After a while, the hat shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!' The Weasley twins chanted, 'We got Potter! We got Potter!'

Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff. Alexander laughed at Harry's expression as the ghost patted his arm. He mentally noted to avoid touching the ghosts.

The High Table was properly visible from the table properly now. In a large gold chair, sat, whom Alexander assumed was, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was tall, thin, and ancient, according to the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He had vivid blue eyes which sparkled behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was lengthy and crooked. That must be Dumbledore, the name written on his acceptance letter.

There were only four people left to be sorted. 'Thomas, Dean,' the dark-skinned boy on the boat, joined the Gryffindor table, and 'Turpin, Lisa' became a Ravenclaw. Ron's turn was after, and a second later the hat had shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!' Alexander snorted. How fitting. The last one in their group, 'Zabini, Blaise', was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

To Alexander's dismay, the gold cutlery remained empty. The old man with a white beard stood on his feet and a hush overtook the hall. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if waiting for an embrace.

'Welcome!' he said. 'Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!' He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered.

Alexander gazed at the Headmaster in confusion. What on earth was that meant to be about? However, before he could voice his confusion to Hermione, the dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He grinned widely. The food consisted of mostly English dishes from roast beef, chicken, boiled and roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, and peppermint humbugs. Alexander reached to grab a peppermint humbug and popped one in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, savouring the taste. Not bad, he thought. He would be a good alternative for a breath mint. He took a couple more.

The ghost in ruff spoke up sadly. 'That does look good.' He was watching Harry eat.

'Can't you — ?' inquired Harry.

'He's a ghost, Harry,' laughed Alexander. 'He can't eat anything.'

'The boy is right,' nodded the ghost solemnly. 'I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years.'

Alexander whistled. That sounded horrible.

'I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.'

'Good to meet you, Sir Nicholas. My condolences with your inability to eat,' said Alexander.

The twins who overheard him laughed. Hermione nudged him in disapproval.

'I know who you are!' said Ron abruptly. 'My brothers told me about you — you're Nearly Headless Nick!'

'I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy —'

Alexander smirked. No chance in hell was that happening.

Seamus Finnigan interrupted, asking the question that Alexander had been thinking, 'Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?'

'Like this.' Nearly Headless Nick seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it were on a hinge. Someone had clearly tried to behead him but failed to do it properly.

Alexander laughed and clapped in response. Nearly Headless Nick grinned at him, cheering up at the attention he was getting.

Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, 'So, new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year. Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have won the Cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable — he's the Slytherin ghost.'

A ghost near the Slytherin table, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood, sat there.

'How did he get covered in blood?' asked Alexander with great fascination.

'I've never asked. But I would refrain from asking,' warned Nearly Headless Nick, seeing the look in Alexander.

After the main, came deserts. Alexander reminded himself to exercise when he ate. If he kept eating like this, he may gain some weight. He helped himself to vanilla ice cream and chocolate éclairs and mixed the two. It tasted rather well as a combination. Alexander chatted to the people around him as he ate.

'How did you discover you were a wizard, Neville?' he asked.

'Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch,' said Neville, 'but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned, but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.'

Alexander frowned. 'They pushed you off a pier?' he began slowly.

'Yeah,' shrugged Neville. 'To see if I was a wizard or not.'

'That – that's not something which is considered good, Neville.' He was lost for words.

'Well, it worked out in the end, anyway,' argued Neville.

Alexander sighed but before he could talk more on the subject Ron addressed him.

'What about you, Alexander? How did you find out?'

'Oh, I found out when I got my acceptance letter,' he said. 'My grandfather had to tell me that I was a wizard after keeping it hidden for so long.'

'So, you're a muggleborn, then?' asked Neville.

Alexander shook his head. 'Strictly speaking, no. My mother was a witch, but I don't know who my father is. He can be a muggle or wizard for all I know.'

The redhead who shook his hand when he was sorted, voiced an eager question. 'Is your Grandfather Antoine Laurent?'

As Alexander tentatively nodded, the redhead leaned over to shake his hand again. 'It's good to meet you, Mr Laurent. I'm Percy Weasley. Please inform your Grandfather how amazed I am with his work with the Ministry of Magic. He's truly an inspiration,' he prattled.

Alexander bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing at Percy's manic behaviour. He knew that Grandfather Laurent was an important man, but he never knew his importance in the magical community. He heard Ron groan in annoyance at his brother, the tips of his ears scarlet.

Hermione, meanwhile, chatted away, much to the displeasure of her fellow peers. 'I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—'

When everyone finished eating, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

'Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.'

Alexander watched as Dumbledore's eyes drifted into the direction of the Weasley twins. The duo smiled innocently.

'I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.'

 _Quidditch?_ _Probably a type of sport_. He's never been good at sports much anyways. It was not that he was terrible, per se, just that he hated running around and so never tried his best. Besides, he much preferred reading.

'And finally,' finished Dumbledore, 'I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.'

 _You what?_ Alexander was alarmed. Surely the old man wasn't serious? Somehow, he doubted that though.

'And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!' cried Dumbledore.

He gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

'Everyone, pick your favourite tune,' said Dumbledore, 'and off we go!'

Choosing the tune of Bryan Adams' recently released song, ( _Everything I Do) I Do For You_ , Alexander sang, along with the rest of the students:

'Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now, they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.'

'You have a nice voice,' commented Hermione quietly.

'Thank you,' Alexander said, reddening.

The Weasley twins were left singing along to a slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand.

'Ah, music,' he said, wiping his eyes. 'A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!'

It was official. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was a mad old fool. Clever and powerful, sure, but also mad. That was the thought running through Alexander's brain as he sluggish followed Percy to the dormitories'. They went up the marble staircase, but Alexander was too tired to pay attention to the moving portraits. All his focus went on remembering the passage to where he would be sleeping.

The group had come to a sudden halt. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them, they started throwing themselves at him.

'Peeves,' Percy whispered to the first years. 'A poltergeist.' He raised his voice, 'Peeves, show yourself.'

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. Alexander snorted out a laugh.

'Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?' warned Percy.

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

'Oooooooh!' he said, with an evil cackle. 'Ickle Firsties! What fun!'

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

'Go away, Peeves or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

 _That's someone to watch out for_ , Alexander noted.

They came to the end of the corridor which contained a portrait of a woman in a pink silk dress.

'Password?' she asked.

'Caput Draconis,' said Percy.

The portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it. Alexander gave Neville the leg up he needed, and they and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room: a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs. Alexander stared longingly at them. He would mind laying down on them and drifting off to sleep. Hermione had to jolt him for him to wake up as he'd accidentally leaned against her. She went rather pink in the face.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase, they found their beds at last: six four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up.

Without even waiting for anyone or anything, Alexander changed out of his clothes and threw himself into his claimed bed. The last thing he heard was Ron's voice complaining at Scabbers eating at his sheets.


	7. Casting Spells

The next morning, Alexander roused to soft sheets; his body was accustomed to Eliot's early wake-up call, even on the weekends. The rest of his Housemates were all fast asleep on their beds. Ron snored unattractively and shuffled around. Rubbing his eyes open, Alexander dragged his feet out of bed and picked up his watch: it was 6:30. Recognising his chance to practice some spells, Alexander grabbed his wand, along with a spellbook, out of his trunk.

He perched against his bed – already made, of course, as he hated being messy – and opened the book on the simplest spell – _Lumos_ , the wand lighting spell. He cleared his throat, then muttered the incantation; a bright, blueish light lit up the room. Someone groaned, and he quickly uttered the counter-spell, _Nox_ , which caused the light to disappear. Alexander blinked. He didn't expect to achieve the spell on his first try, but perhaps it may just have been a fairly easy spell. Deciding that this must have been the case, he tried the levitation charm, a challenging spell for any first-year new to magic. He glanced at his robes which were packed neatly in his trunk and pointed his wand at them, taking a deep breath. Similarly to the previous spell, he spoke the words, _Wingardium Leviosa_ , this time with a swish and flick of the wrist, as was stated in the book. He watched in amazement as the robes lifted into the air, following the movements of his wand. Unfortunately, the robes were not held up for too long and tumbled back inside the trunk after a few seconds.

He did this with other spells in the books including the unlocking charm, the hot-air charm and the cleaning spell. He noticed that the spells worked usually on the first try, but he couldn't maintain it for long. He even attempted a second-year spell, the packing charm, in which he sorted his trunk, and managed on the first try. Alexander was mystified. Why was it easy for him to do the spells? The magical theory books indicated that it was difficult for young witches and wizards to achieve even the simplest spells on the first attempt because their magic has not been used. The longer a wizard practised their magic, the stronger and easier it becomes to do spells quickly over time. Then why did it work for him? Alexander certainly had not been doing magic for all of his life. Well, not _consciously_ that's for sure.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed him, as if he'd run a mile without stopping. He decided to take a hot shower – one of his favourite activities – to relax his muscles. The light had seeped into the room from the tower window, indicating that it was properly morning.

After he was finished with his wash, he started to rearrange the contents of his trunk, without magic this time. This habit allowed him to prepare mentally for the day and caused him to feel relaxed. In London, he wouldn't even let Eliot organise the belongings in his wardrobe; it was a job strictly for him.

A loud yawn sounded from one of the beds. Dean Thomas stretched ungracefully and got out of his bed.

'Alright,' he greeted Alexander, who had finished organising by this point and had worn his school robes.

'Yeah,' replied Alexander. 'Morning.'

He walked out of the dormitory into the common room while Ron's snore echoed like a foghorn in the background. He resisted the urge to laugh. Hermione sat primly on one of the comfortable armchairs, with her school robes on, reading a book which was perched on her lap. As Alexander came closer, he realised that it was _The Standard Book of Spells_ , the book he'd just been using.

'Good morning,' he greeted Hermione, startling her. She frowned at him, appearing rather annoyed.

'Morning,' she responded in a rigid voice.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. What was up with her?

'Do you mind?' she snapped. 'I'm trying to read here.'

'Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you.'

Hermione huffed and shut her book. 'Never mind. We've got to be in the Great Hall by eight. Come on, I don't want to get in trouble on the first day.' She got up, ran her hands down her robes to remove any invisible wrinkles, and walked out of the portrait without a second glance back.

Alexander's mouth lightly dropped. He shook his head but made to follow her. It was a good thing he remembered the way to the Hall from last night, otherwise, he would have been lost. Now that he was wide awake, Alexander was much more focused on the passages and unusual sights that he came across in the castle. The people in the portraits called after him as he walked and the staircases would move suddenly. In one corridor, a cat prowled in the middle. Alexander was sorry to say that it was an unattractive creature, scrawny and dust-coloured with bulging, lamp-like eyes. He almost recoiled when he saw the creature but instead placed his best charming smile as he walked past. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as Alexander felt the cat's beady eyes on him. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached another passage and the cat disappeared.

The breakfast in the Great Hall was just as delicious as yesterday's feast. Only one problem unnerved him, however. When he was eating, Professor McGonagall approached the table to give him his schedule for classes.

'Here you go, Mr Laurent,' said the Professor and placed a sheet on the table near him. 'Your timetable.'

'Thank you,' Alexander said. He hesitated then voiced, 'Professor, how would I go about getting some black coffee?'

Professor McGonagall stared at him shrewdly for a moment from behind her spectacles. 'You wish to have black coffee?' she asked slowly. Her stare made him feel like he was five years old and Grandfather Laurent had caught him stealing from the biscuit tin.

Alexander nodded. 'Yes, Professor. I need to drink black coffee in the morning. It's a personal taste,' he explained.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. 'Well, I'm sure you can make a request with those working in the kitchens. They will be happy to uh – accommodate to your taste.'

Before Alexander could ask her where the kitchens were, Professor McGonagall had carried on giving out the timetables.

Alexander bit his lip. How did one go about finding out where the kitchens were? He was interrupted by the devious faces of the twins who sat across from him.

'So, Alexi,' began Fred.

'We couldn't help but to overhead,' said George.

'Black coffee, eh?'

'Aren't you a big boy,' smirked George.

Alexander shrugged. 'I like black coffee.' His eyes narrowed on the pair. 'Wait, you guys wouldn't happen to know where I can find the kitchens?'

Fred nodded, crossing his arms against his chest. 'We do, indeed.'

George leaned closer. 'In fact, we're on very close terms with those working in the kitchen. We might pass along some information regarding your preference for black coffee if we so wished.'

Alexander stared at them calculatingly. 'There's a catch,' he stated matter-of-factly.

'Yes, there is, clever boy,' grinned Fred. 'We want you to help with our pranks. The one you did on the train made us realise that there's a whole world of youngsters out there, if you will, inexperienced to the magnificent art of pranking.'

'And we want to help you tap into your potential,' continued George. 'It breaks my heart to think that all your unexplored talent could be wasted away.' He wiped an imaginary tear and Fred patted him on the back sympathetically.

'There, there, Georgie-boy. So what do you say, Alex?' Fred asked. 'You could be our protégé of sorts.'

They gazed expectantly at him. Alexander popped a sausage piece in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. As he finished, he answered.

'I'll do it. But only if I get my black coffee.'

They grinned wickedly at him.

'Alex, prepare for all the black coffee you could drink. You'll be drowning in it,' said Fred.

'We'll be in touch soon, our little protégé. Be ready and waiting.' They left the table, smirking at each other. Alexander saw Professor McGonagall stared the two sternly as they left the Hall.

∞ ϟ 9¾

For the next few days, the castle itself fascinated Alexander. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led different passages during certain days of the week; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then some doors wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. Alexander once made the mistake of attempting to go through a fake door but quickly learnt what a huge mistake it was. He had to go to the hospital wing where the matron, Madam Pomfrey, gave him a potion that cured headaches and swellings.

It was also difficult to remember where anything was because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, the coats of armour walked when you could catch a glimpse of them.

At first, the sight of the ghosts gliding through the door was a shock, but it didn't faze him anymore as he learnt to adapt after the third try. Nearly Headless Nick was the only ghost who was helpful enough to point new people in the right direction. A majority was either indifferent to the struggling first years or chose specific times to help. Nobody dared to approach the Bloody Baron and ask for directions. Neville and a few other Gryffindors had stared at Alexander in horrified silence, as if he were walking to his death when he built up enough courage to ask the infamous ghost for directions to the Charms classroom. Surprisingly, the Baron had stared at him silently at first, then in a brisk, hoarse whisper, the Baron directed him to the East towers, where the classroom was located.

The same, however, could not be said about Peeves the Poltergeist. He would drop rubbish on students' head, pull rugs, pelt people with bits of chalk, or sneak up and screech, 'Got your conk!'

Worse than Peeves, unbelievably, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Alexander had never disliked someone more than Filch. While trying to find their way around, Filch had yelled at him and Neville, who had trembled like a leaf, threatening to lock them in the dungeon. Worse was when he managed to reduce Hermione to tears by threatening to call the Headmaster because she'd accidentally stepped on his newly polished floor. Alexander, by this point, had enough of the caretaker with his violent promises and snapped, calling him a 'miserable old tosser!' He ran for it, grabbing Hermione by the wrist before Filch could say anything. Needless to say, Hermione was not pleased and didn't speak to him for two days.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs Norris, the cat Alexander encountered in the corridor, who patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick. Alexander made it his goal to kick Filch's cat by the end of the year. He'd be doing everyone a favour and vowed to somehow achieve it.

To his disappointment, however, Alexander had not properly seen Nia Jennings since he saw her on the train. He saw her in corridors in between lessons and in the Great Hall, but there was never a right time to approach her and ask her how she was doing. The corridors were too crowded and Alexander kept bumping into upper-class students who towered over Alexander; the Great Hall was also inconvenient because Nia was surrounded by a crowd of friends, and Alexander would rather ask the Bloody Baron his life story than approach a cluster of older teenage girls.

The classes were highly more interesting than any muggle class he's been in. Even the homework was appealing due to the subjects and the amount he had to write. In school, Alexander had to fill up two pages worth of essays or calculations, but in Hogwarts, the length of parchment was the most they had to write. The parchment always ended up being half a normal A4 sheet of paper. Alexander completed most of the set tasks on the day. Hermione, it seemed, felt the same way. The girl crammed pages of tiny writing and always had an answer for everything. Truthfully, Alexander admired her determination. Learning new knowledge was something he's always valued and driven to accomplish, regardless of what it was.

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a cheerful little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learnt how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for. Neville, Alexander discovered, excelled at Herbology. The timid boy could differentiate from every single weed and plant and learn its properties. It was the one subject that brought out Neville's confidence.

History of Magic, to Alexander's disappointment, was the dullest class. When Nia had informed him that it was taught by a ghost, Alexander expected something engaging. Professor Binns, he was sorry to say, was not interesting. In fact, the only exciting thing, perhaps, that occurred to the teacher was his death. Binns had fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fire and awoken the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Alexander's eyes drooped close every few seconds as Binns droned on about different types of Goblin Rebellions and various dates of the past. He had to force himself through sheer will to keep himself awake just to whit down some notes. Hermione was the only person, possibly ever, to listen, wide-eyed and attentive, to Binns, jotting down notes in her tiny handwriting. Alexander admired her for that. He wasn't exactly going to be an expert on the subject, but he noted down just enough to avoid failing. Besides, he was doing better than Harry and Ron who both fell asleep during every class, slouching and snoring on the desk.

Professor McGonagall tolerated no form of sleep in her class. It was difficult to focus on anything apart from the Professor in case of being thrown under her austere gaze. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking to the moment they sat down in her first class.

'Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,' she said. 'Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.'

The class became silent, no one daring to breathe. Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started. Alexander knew they were not going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking numerous complicated notes, they were each given a match and began trying to turn it into a needle.

Alexander sat next to Neville. He picked up his wand and stared at the match placed on his desk. He waved his wand but instead of a needle, he received a silver match. After several tries, there was still no change in the match. This was going to be harder than he thought. As he glanced around, he saw people struggling. Neville's match had hardly even quivered, Seamus kept jabbing at his, whirling his hand like a windmill. Hermione's, meanwhile, had changed to a pointy needle but it was not silver yet.

Professor McGonagall approached the desk and glimpsed at his silver match. 'What seems to be the problem, Mr Laurent? I'm not seeing a silver needle.'

Alexander sighed in frustration, running a hand through his neat hair. 'I don't know, Professor. I keep saying the spell again and again but nothing's happening.'

Professor McGonagall crossed her hands in front of her. 'Perhaps Mr Laurent, try placing your focus on _visualising_ what your silver needle looks like in your mind. If you picture the image, your intent will be clearer and so will your magic.'

Alexander paused. _Of course_. It sounded so simple, but he hadn't thought of it. It was about pure concentration and intent.

'Mr Longbottom, try saying the incantation more clearly.' She frowned at Neville's pitiful attempt. 'Stuttering is hardly going to get you anywhere.' She peered down at Neville pointedly as he flushed, then moved to towards Harry and Ron's desk.

Alexander took a deep breath and gazed down at the silver match. He pictured a pointy needle, sharp enough to prick someone's finger if they grazed it, with a silver coat. Holding the vivid image in his mind, he opened his mouth and recited the incantation in a clear and confident voice, ' _Acusignis_.'

One second, there was a silver match, the next a pointy and silver needle perfectly lay on his desk – just as he had conjured up in his mind. A broad smile stretched across his face for the first time since entering the classroom, complete with white teeth and dimples.

'Well done, Mr Laurent,' praised Professor McGonagall. 'A seamless, well-transfigured silver needle. Five points to Gryffindor.'

By the end of the lesson, Hermione was the only other person who had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and sharp and gave Hermione a rare smile. The rest of the class, much to their displeasure, was set homework to practice their needle.

Defence Against the Dark Arts turned into a complete joke. Alexander figured that he could have learnt more through the set book for the class than anything the teacher ever taught them, which was a real shame because everyone had been looking forward to the class. The teacher, Professor Quirrell was a nervous, stuttering man who wore a large, purple turban. The man trembled every time he talked about anything dangerous and stuck firmly to dreary, harmless topics.

His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which was said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went. Alexander thought it smelt like a rotting corpse and promised to find a spell later that blocked unpleasant smells.

One subject that Alexander particularly excelled at was Charms. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to look over his desk. Even Seamus Finnigan, the smallest person out of the first years, was inches taller than Professor Flitwick. Alexander couldn't stop laughing when at the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when reaching Harry's name, Professor Flitwick gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Hermione had to nudge him, appalled at his impudence for laughing at a teacher. Flitwick, however, grinned in good nature.

When Professor Flitwick set the Lumos spell for the first class, he was slightly surprised when Alexander got it on his first try. He then proceeded to ask Alexander to demonstrate a few more spells and squeaked in excitement as Alexander achieved most of the first-year spells on the first try. He awarded ten points to Gryffindor for that and asked Alexander to stay behind after class. Alexander was confused but didn't argue.

'Mr Laurent, your charm skills are remarkable for a first-year,' remarked Professor Flitwick animatedly. 'Was that your first time doing magic?'

Alexander nodded hesitantly. 'It was. Professor, I don't know how I did it. I just did the wand movement, said the words, and the charm worked.'

'Incredible. Simply incredible. I wanted to ask if whether you'd be up for more special tutoring, with me, of course,' he chuckled good-naturedly.

Alexander widened his eyes.

'I thought that because the curriculum doesn't go into other spells, you'd be willing to learn to test your potential,' Flitwick hastily explained, 'it won't interrupt your other classes.'

Alexander smiled. 'I would be glad to, Professor.'

Flitwick beamed then dismissed him to his next class.

Astronomy, however, had been a whole different case. Alexander knew Astronomy was a subject that he would struggle with. Not only did they have to wake up a few minutes before midnight, disturbing his sleep, but they also had to drag themselves up the highest tower in the castle and up the most _godforsaken_ steps Alexander has ever had the displeasure to go up, huffing and cursing with exhaustion. It was at times like this that he longed for a lift – the technology of the muggle world. Neville had to wake him up at 11:30 during the days they had Astronomy. Although Alexander was an early riser, especially before dawn, he hated anyone bothering him during the night when he was snoozing. Alexander was prone to irritation during this time and once lashed out at Neville on their way up the tower, causing the boy to whimper in fright. Immediately, Alexander felt guilty and apologised to his friend who accepted it because Neville was kind-hearted and forgiving like that.

The Gryffindors had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Alexander, for the life of him, couldn't identify the variety of stars or planets and struggled every time. Even Neville was able to understand better. Hermione, as anticipated, topped the subject and was the best in their class, to Professor Sinistra's lauds.

They were currently looking for the constellation Orion through their telescopes, and some students, like Lavender and Parvati, had recognised it. Hermione was first to point it out. The Professor walked over to Alexander.

'Mr Laurent, that's the wrong constellation,' the Professor sighed. 'That's the fourth time now.'

Alexander reddened with embarrassment and frustration. He fought the urge to run a hand through his hair. Ron threw him a sympathetic glance. He was so close to throwing his telescope out of the window, and then himself. At least then he would be free from the nightmare that was the night sky.

'You're having trouble trying locating the constellations,' the Professor stated.

Alexander nodded in defeat, recognising there was no point in hiding the fact.

Her eyes fell on Hermione. 'Perhaps Miss Granger might be an asset to your progression if she helped you. What do you say, Miss Granger?' Professor Sinistra queried. 'Would you be willing to help Mr Laurent for the next couple of lessons?'

Hermione straightened up under the Professor's praise and nodded eagerly. 'I would be glad to, Professor.'

'Excellent, it's settled then.' The Professor threw her a smile. 'Five points to Gryffindor.'

Hermione approached him, her expression serious. 'Follow my lead for the next class.'

Alexander smiled sheepishly, shrugging. 'You're the expert.'

Hermione left hurriedly for her next class, leaving Alexander to stare after her. Hermione was without doubt the most interesting person he's met since arriving at Hogwarts. She was determined, intelligent, and stuck to the rules like no other. Unfortunately, she rebuffed all his chances to be friends, becoming snappy and irritant at times. Alexander didn't know what to do. He got along fine with everyone else, including Lavender and Parvati. Those two freely gossiped, and it felt nice to sit down with them sometimes and chat care freely about people Hogwarts. He joked around with Dean and Seamus and struck up a friendly debate with Dean over football teams. Even Ron, though insensitive and tactless, was fun to play chess with. Hermione, on the other hand, was stubborn and wilful.

On Friday, Alexander finally found his way to all his classes without asking for help. He sat on the Gryffindor table with Harry and Ron, eating breakfast. Alexander was happy to see a jug of black coffee on the table.

He glanced over to the Weasley twins and nodded gratefully at them. Fred raised his goblet of pumpkin juice, smirking.

'What have we got today?' Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

'Double Potions with the Slytherins,' said Ron, grimacing. 'Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them. We'll be able to see if it's true.'

'There's always some basis of truth to rumours,' Alexander said over his cup of coffee.

'Urgh, Alex,' groaned Ron. 'How can you drink that. There's no sugar or milk in it.'

Alexander faked being offended. 'I like it like that.'

Ron shook his head. 'Mental,' he mouths.

'Wish McGonagall favoured us,' Harry glumly said.

Alexander furrowed his brows. 'I think she sort of does, in her way, I mean.'

Ron snorted and talked with his mouth open. 'Right, that'll be the day.'

'Close your mouth, Ronald,' snapped Alexander as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'Oi! Don't call me Ronald. Only my mum calls me that.'

Just then, the mail arrived. A hundred owls streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps. Apollo flew down to where Alexander was sitting, with a letter and a brown package tied around his leg. He recognised Eliot's wide handwriting on the front. He gave a few pieces of toast to Apollo, stroked his head, causing Apollo to preen at the attention. Opening up the letter he read:

Dear Alex,

It is good to hear from your last letter that you were sorted into Gryffindor. Brave and courageous, huh? I have to admit I'm not surprised by the sorting. You're braver than both your Grandfather and I combined.

I am glad you are fitting in and working hard. I am slightly surprised to hear about your friendship with Harry Potter. I am sure he could do with a few friends, and please be kind to him. I doubt the poor boy has some real friends because of his fame.

As for us, here in London, well the house is quieter now that you've gone. I am sorry to tell you this, but there has been a slight change of plan. You're gonna have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, Alex. Your Grandfather's going to be away for some time. I know you were looking forward to the Holidays, but you'll see us during the Summer period, I promise you that. The package I sent with Apollo contains those muffins that you like. You can share some with your friends as well.

Continue writing back to tell me how you're doing. Maintain your studies.

Love from Eliot.

Alexander felt his heart sink. His shoulders slumped and his eyes were downcast. A frown lay on his face. Grandfather had barely written back to him since he arrived at Hogwarts – only Eliot bothered to reply. He glanced up and caught Harry's curious gaze who clutched his own letter.

'Everything alright?' Harry inquired.

Alexander nodded and plastered a smile. 'Everything's fine. Here, have some muffins.' He took one out of the box and passed the rest to Ron who was all too pleased to be offered it.

Alexander had just seen Hermione walk out of the Great Hall. He got up to follow her, a muffin in hand.

'I'll see you guys later.'

He caught up with her outside of the Hall.

'Hey Hermione, wait,' he called.

The girl in question slowed down and gave him a pointed look. 'Yes?'

He reached out an arm to present the muffin. 'Here, I wanted to give this to you.'

Hermione stared suspiciously at the muffin. 'And why would you want to do that?'

Alexander shrugged. 'I wanted my friends to have a try, so here.'

For the first time, Hermione appeared speechless. Alexander didn't think laughing would be appropriate, nor would Hermione appreciate it. She hesitated for a second then tentatively reached out to grab it.

'Thank you,' she said in a quiet voice.

'You're welcome,' Alexander grinned, miles happier than when he received Eliot's letter. 'I have to write a letter, but I'll see you Potions.'

Alexander didn't quite like where the Potions classroom was located. It took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been eerie enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Professor Snape, the Potions teacher, seemed to have some vendetta as Harry. The man had greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. Alexander stared incredulously at Snape's hair. The man desperately needed some type of conditioner. Perhaps he could send an anonymous gift to him.

The Gryffindors piled into the Potions classroom and took a seat at a table. Unfortunately for Alexander, Neville had already grabbed a table with Seamus, causing the former to gaze ruefully at him. Hermione was on a table with Dean. Alexander waved a hand toward Neville, indicating that it was okay and picked a seat next to an unfamiliar dark-skinned Slytherin called Blaise Zabini.

'Do you mind if I sit here,' Alexander asked cautiously. The boy peered up and narrowed his eyes against Alexander's Gryffindor crested robes and tie. He was silent for a silent until he shrugged.

'Do what you want.' Blaise's voice was soft-spoken and quiet.

'Thank you.'

Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and he paused at Harry's name.

'Ah, yes,' he whispered, 'Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity.'

Draco Malfoy, the ferret boy, and his gorilla friends, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were cold and hollow like dark tunnels.

'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,' he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

'As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will fully understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.'

_He certainly had a knack for the dramatics_ , Alexander thought dryly. Silence followed this little speech. Hermione was bouncing on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

Alexander jumped as Snape's voice rose suddenly.

'Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

_The Draught of Living Death_ thought Alexander. Harry, unfortunately, looked stumped. Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

'I don't know, sir,' said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a nasty sneer. 'Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything.' He ignored Hermione's hand. 'Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but still, Snape disregarded her.

'I don't know, sir.'

Alexander grimaced, feeling second-hand embarrassment for Harry.

'Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?'

He was starting to become annoyed as Snape ignored Hermione's quivering hand. This guy singled out only Harry, never giving a chance to anyone else in the class. Alexander began to feel that this was less of questioning than straight-up bullying.

'What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

'I don't know,' said Harry, then peered right into Snape's cruel gaze. 'I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?'

Alexander choked out a laugh. _Good on you Harry_ he thought. _Tell that greasy bastard_. Snape was not pleased.

'Sit down,' he snapped at Hermione. 'For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?'

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.'

Alexander clenched his jaw but refrained from glaring at the Professor. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Surely teachers are meant to _teach_ first. Snape had just written the instructions on the blackboard and barked at them to get on. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs. Snape walked over to his and Blaise's table and peered inside their cauldron. He gave a slight nod then walked over to Malfoy's table. Alexander caught Blaise's eyes, and they both grinned at each other.

'Listen up,' said Snape. He pointed at Malfoy's ingredient while the ferret boy smirked smugly. 'You see the perfect way Mr Malfoy has stewed his horned slugs. You'd better hope all of yours look exactly like this otherwise –'

Suddenly, clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Alexander watched in horror as Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, rapidly spreading across and burning holes in people's shoes. Alexander swiftly jumped on the stool before the potion reached his side of the room. Blaise followed his lead.

Neville, drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

'Idiot boy!' snarled Snape, clearing the spilt potion away with one wave of his wand. 'I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. Alexander spoke up due to concern and worry for his friend.

'I'll take him to the hospital wing, Professor,' he muttered, grabbing Neville's arm.

'Make sure that you do, Mr Laurent. You wouldn't want your friend, Longbottom here, to have permanent boils on his face,' Snape spat, glaring with his cold, empty eyes.

_Greasy bastard_.

'Come on, Neville. Let's go,' Alexander quietly addressed Neville who whimpered in response. Snape's voice trailed off as Alexander left the classroom.

'You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor.'

They reached the Hospital Wing where an unimpressed Madam Pomfrey met them.

'Ah, it's you, Mr Laurent. Bumped into any invisible doors lately?' she retorted.

Alexander flushed and hastened to clarify, 'No, Madam Pomfrey, there was an accident in Potions and Neville was, uh, hit.'

Madam Pomfrey sighed as she took a good look at Neville. The boils were now all over his face.

'Right you are. Mr Longbottom, prop yourself up on that bed and drink this while you're at it,' she said and offered Neville an unpleasant looking substance.

Neville did as she asked, wincing in pain.

'You can go now, Mr Laurent,' she gestured for Alexander to leave.

'But –'

'Your friend will be fine by tomorrow. Now off,' she instructed sternly.

Deciding it was better to agree than to argue with her, Alexander glanced encouragingly at Neville then left the Hospital Wing.

He met up with Harry and Ron in the corridor. The two asked about Neville, then asked if Alexander wanted to accompany them on a visit to Hagrid. Alexander accepted, seeing as he had nothing better to do. All his homework for the weekend was completed and his reading could wait until tomorrow.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of goloshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked, the three of them heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, 'Back, Fang — back.'

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

'Hang on,' he said. 'Back, Fang.'

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

He grinned warmly at them.

'Make yerselves at home,' said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded towards Alexander.

Alexander laughed and petted the huge, loveable dog who was not as fierce as he looked. 'You're not scary at all, are you – you big softie?'

Fang barked loudly and licked his face, causing Alexander to chuckle.

'He likes you,' grinned Hagrid from under his bushy beard who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

'This is Ron,' Harry said. 'And this is Alexander.'

'Another Weasley?' said Hagrid. 'I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest.'

Alexander snorted in response. God help him if the twins forced him to go into the Forbidden Forest. He picked up one of the rock cakes, a shapeless lump with raisins that almost broke his teeth. He supposed there was a reason it was named _rock_ cakes. It would have been much better if chocolate chip cookies were used instead, but raisins weren't entirely too bad. Alexander found himself to be genuinely enjoying the cakes – the tea made it softer as well.

'A Laurent, eh? I met your mother when she went here.'

Alexander hurriedly swallowed. 'You did?'

Hagrid smiled at him. 'I did. She was a kind soul, mind yer. An' talented, yes. She'd always come ter visit me.'

Alexander felt a bubble of warmth towards the kind giant. They then went on to tell Hagrid all about their first lessons. Harry, Ron and Alexander were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch 'that old git.'

'An' as fer that cat, Mrs Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it.'

'Don't worry, Hagrid. I'll make sure to give that cat a big kick from you by the end of this year,' promised Alexander.

Harry and Ron laughed. Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

'But he seemed to really hate me.'

'Rubbish!' said Hagrid. 'Why should he?'

'Hagrid, he _despises_ Harry,' blunted pointed out Alexander. 'If he put that much effort into conditioning his hair instead of bullying students, maybe then it wouldn't be dripping with grease.'

'Now, now, Alexander,' lightly scolded Hagrid. 'Professor Snape's a teacher.'

Yet, Hagrid couldn't quite look any of them in the eyes, strangely enough.

'How's yer brother Charlie?' Hagrid asked Ron. 'I liked him a lot — great with animals.'

Alexander listened as Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons.

'Hagrid!' spoke Harry, jolting Alexander. Harry had a newspaper opened up in front of him. 'That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!'

'Gringotts' break-in?' asked Alexander, his attention caught.

'Yeah,' nodded Harry and proceeded to inform him about it while Alexander read the newspaper.

'So, the thief must have wanted something valuable. Something that's not commonly known to the public,' Alexander said carefully.

'Yer shouldn't be talking 'bout this,' Hagrid interrupted worriedly.

'Why not?' Harry asked innocently.

Hagrid didn't answer, nor did he meet their eyes, and instead offered another rock cake. Harry and Ron politely declined while Alexander took some for later.

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, Alexander said he'd join them later as he wanted to check on Neville first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget to mention that this is a slow burn? I wish you guys a very happy new year and hope everyone is well and safe. Please review and tell me what you thought. Thank you for reading.


	8. Brooms and Duels

So far, Alexander had no baseless judgement against the Slytherins. Despite rumours of their dark reputations, most of the Slytherins were respectful and introverted. Blaise Zabini, his Potions partner, was a quiet, withdrawn boy who had a talent for potion-making. Though Alexander would acknowledge Blaise with a small nod in a corridor, the two boys usually stuck to communicating during Snape's lessons. He and Blaise would often joke about Snape's cloak and hair, causing Alexander to stifle his giggles in fear of Snape hearing. Snape, of course, still favoured the Slytherins and scolded Alexander at times due to his House, but his reprove was not nearly as hostile than when he addressed Harry.

Helen, Nia's best friend, was also a Slytherin. While Alexander had not personally spoken to the blonde-haired girl, her presence was witnessed around the castle. Helen, he figured, was a social butterfly, popular amongst everyone. She always had a joyful smile, her robes were pressed neatly with her tie done elegantly, and her laughter chimed from across the courtyard. Nia accompanied her with a soft half-smile.

The same, however, could not be said about the ferret-faced boy, Draco Malfoy. His pointed chin and pale face sneered every time another first-year walked past him. His twin-set minions trailed after Malfoy, looking like a pair of dense gorillas. While Helen's light laughter filled the corridors and courtyard, Malfoy's drawling voice was full of callous taunts.

Alexander had been walking through the castle from the library session when he encountered the three Slytherins after a turn in a corridor. A tiny, red-haired boy had tears flowing down his cheeks, distressed at the sight of Malfoy repeatedly throwing what seemed to be the boy's wand to Crabbe and Goyle while jeering at him. His yellow robes indicated that he was a Hufflepuff. Alexander paused, watching. The others hadn't noticed he was there yet.

'Look at the big baby cry,' Malfoy sneered. Crabbe and Goyle laughed stupidly. 'I could just snap this wand right here and now.' Malfoy smirked and spun the boy's wand in his hand.

The Hufflepuff panicked, wide-eyed and anxious, and tried to lunge at Malfoy, but the two gorillas held him back. The boy let out a loud cry, his face scrunched up in pain as Crabbe squeezed his arms tight behind him back. Alexander opened his mouth to shout until Malfoy continued.

'I'd be doing you a favour, Hughes,' sniggered Malfoy. 'A muggleborn like you.'

Malfoy held the wand in hands as a threat. Alexander felt a wave of indignation rush over him. Immediately, his hand whipped to the pocket of his robes and drew out his wand. Pointing it towards the blonde ferret, he said in a strong tone, ' _Expelliarmus_.' Professor Flitwick had briefly mentioned the spell during one of their sessions, and it was the first one that popped into his mind.

A red light burst forth from the end of his wand and travelled towards Malfoy. The pale blonde raised his head at Alexander's voice, terror-stricken, but it was too late; the spell slammed against Malfoy like a weight train, and he sailed backwards, landing on his side, groaning in pain, while the wand he was holding flew into the air. Alexander watched it and caught the wand before it hit the floor. The gorillas appeared confused at the events, unsure of what to do. The Hufflepuff boy took advantage of their disorientation and freed himself from their hold, then punched the two in the chest with his tiny fists. Alexander doubted the boy did any damage.

Malfoy drew up and glared at Alexander with hate-filled eyes.

'You'll pay for that, Laurent,' he spat angrily.

'Yeah,' snorted Alexander, wand still drawn on the three Slytherins.

Crabbe and Goyle were cautious of his wand but also angry about their leader's position. The conflict caused their faces to appear constipated.

'You're gonna run off and tell your daddy, then?' Alexander mocked.

He gripped his wand tighter, adrenaline rushing through his veins, as Malfoy scrambled to his feet. But before either Alexander or Malfoy could utter a spell, a Ravenclaw Prefect came round the corner, shocked at the scene. Alexander knew it probably didn't look good: a Hufflepuff boy with flowing tears, two gorillas flexing their muscles, promising a violent altercation, and he and Malfoy stood facing each other with wands drawn.

'What on earth is going on here,' said the Prefect incredulously. 'Have you been fighting in the corridors?'

None of them answered – Alexander hardly took his eyes of Malfoy. The blonde ferret seemed like the type to curse an opponent when their back was turned and Alexander would never allow him the satisfaction. The Prefect, however, grew angry.

'You know fighting in corridors is against the rules,' the Prefect snapped. 'Ten points will be taken from both Gryffindor and Slytherin and you all will be serving detention with your House leaders.'

Alexander couldn't give any – excuse his French – fucks at that point. He accepted his punishment, aware that he broke the rules. Yet, he didn't regret anything. That blonde ferret deserved to be taken down a peg. The way he spoke the red-haired boy made his blood boil.

'Now, get going, all of you – get to your House dormitories.'

Alexander broke eye contact as the three Slytherins walked in the opposite direction to wherever the Slytherin common room was located. Malfoy threw him one last glare. He walked over to the Hufflepuff boy and gave him the wand back.

'Thank you,' smiled the boy gratefully, tearily eyed.

Alexander smiled at him.

'All right, that's enough,' the stern Prefect remarked. 'That also meant the two of you – go on, off you go.'

Sighing, Alexander made his way to the Gryffindor common room. Unexpectedly, in one of the corridors along the way, he encountered Nia who was sitting down on a stone bench with a book open. She was with Helen whose eyes flitted across the same book. Helen's tumble of blonde curls draped down her shoulders. Alexander supposed that from afar you could say that Helen's soft tresses were the colour of rich cream, but up close it was a chorus of hues. Then as she turned to look his way, her eyes were not the watery blue he had expected – they were the colour of caramel and so were the freckles that lay over her nose and upper cheeks.

They both glanced up as he approached them.

'Hey, Laurent,' greeted Nia.

Alexander was met by two smiles from the girls. Helen's gentle smile slightly placed him at ease from the heated confrontation. He wondered how the girl could be sorted in a House that also had the blonde ferret. The two were polar opposites.

'How have you been, my friend. How are you finding Hogwarts?'

Alexander shrugged. Nia raised an eyebrow.

'Woah, not every talkative are you today, are you? Hey, so, I wanted to introduce you to my best friend that I mentioned. This is Helen.'

'Hello, I'm Alexander Laurent,' he introduced, presenting a hand out for Helen to shake.

'It's nice to finally meet you, Alexander.'

Even Helen's voice was soft and pleasant. It made him feel like he was floating away on several clouds. She had an aura, of the sort, to make people feel peaceful and relaxed.

'You too.'

'D'you wanna tell us what's got you all grumpy,' asked Nia.

'It's nothing,' murmured Alexander.

Nia opened her mouth to argue until Helen interrupted her. Alexander internally thanked her.

'Leave it, Nia.' Nia didn't argue. Helen got up and walked closer to him. 'So, Alex – it's okay if I call you Alex, right? – we'll be around if you want to ask some questions.'

Helen patted him on the arm. Alexander realised that Helen was taller than him by about an inch.

'Don't be shy. We're a friendly bunch.' Helen's eyes crinkled as she beamed, a bright ray of light. She turned toward Nia who was far more stoic. 'Come on, Ni. Let's go.'

Nia found it hard to resist Helen's request and, sighing, she held the book under her shoulder and followed her best friend, but not before throwing a steady glance at him.

When Alexander walked into the Gryffindor common room, he saw a new notice pinned up on the board. Judging by the expression of the rest of the first years, it wasn't good news. The sign informed them that flying lessons would be starting on Thursday and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together. Which meant that pompous ferret would also be there. Alexander groaned loudly, attracting the attention of a couple of third years sat on the sofas near him, who were chatting together. The group smirked in amusement.

'What's wrong, Laurent?' teased a girl in a hijab. 'Afraid of a broom? Scared you're gonna slide off the end.' Her friends guffawed.

Alexander sighed, ignoring them, and walked over to where Harry and Ron sat.

'Typical,' said Harry darkly, as Alexander sat opposite the two. 'Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.'

'Way to be positive, Potter,' Alexander drily commented.

Harry felt so worried that he didn't even offer Alexander an annoyed glance. Alexander noticed that Harry's knuckles were white from clenching too hard against the arm of the sofa.

'Look, Harry, who cares what blondie thinks. Someone who uses _that_ much gel in his hair should not even have an opinion on anything, to be fair.'

Ron laughed, delighted at his insult towards Malfoy. Alexander grinned at him, his heart much lighter now.

'What's more,' he continued, 'I think you're being rather paranoid. It's just your nerves talking.'

'Alex is right, Harry. You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself,' said Ron reasonably. 'Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk.'

'Oh, definitely,' nodded Alexander. 'I knew a few like him in the muggle world. They're all talk really.'

The ferret certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting Quidditch teams and bragged long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. It was surprising that his nose didn't grow like Pinocchio's. Alexander figured that Malfoy would have made a good storyteller if he weren't just an arrogant _piquer_.

Flying didn't exactly interest Alexander. It was not to say that he was afraid of heights or flying on a broomstick, he was simply indifferent to the whole notion. Flying was a practical skill to know in the magical community – one that he intended to learn – but it was merely that: an ability to acquire similar to conjuring, charming, or making potions.

The other first-year boys, however, begged to differ. Seamus Finnigan told them that he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick; Ron would inform anyone who'd listen about the time he had almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Alexander became subject to an argument between Dean and Ron about football while he was trying to read a second-year spellbook on his book.

'But it's completely useless,' complained Ron to an irate Dean. 'What's so exciting about a game that has only one ball _and_ there no flying is involved?'

Alexander felt offended on Dean's behalf. Ron could be funny and helpful at times with his insights into the wizarding community, but he was often tactless and borderline rude.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother had never let him near one. It was a decision well-founded because Neville was clumsy no matter where he was, be it on his feet or in the air. Alexander warned Neville sometimes when he was close to bumping into something such as suits of armour or tripping over his robes.

The only other person as nervous as Neville about flying was Hermione. Alexander saw that she became all jittery and talked rapidly as the day came closer. Flying was a skill unable to be learned by heart out of a book, though she had tried, much to Alexander's amusement. When he was in the library, working on his difficult astronomy homework,

Hermione sat near his table. All the books about flying and Quidditch were laid out on her desk. He'd hear her whisper briskly and write down copious amounts of notes. It wouldn't be surprising to him if that girl were the first person ever to learn a practical skill out of the book.

At breakfast on Thursday, she loudly lectured them all about the flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Most of the other Gryffindors had tuned her out and Harry and Ron were looking bored. Alexander was listening through one ear. He was spreading chocolate syrup on his pancakes while Hermione's voice chattered on about broom handles and various types of makes. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later.

'Don't worry, Neville,' assured Alexander. 'You'll be fine.'

Neville didn't answer and instead picked at his omelette with a fork while intensely peering at Hermione.

The arrival of the post interrupted Hermione's speech, much to the relief of the others. Malfoy's eagle owl swooped down towards the pale blonde with a package clutched in its claws. His parents were always bringing him bundles of sweets from home which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table while smugly sneering at Harry. The latter, Alexander noticed, hardly received any letters apart from that one time. Apollo, though, had brought him a letter; Alexander tore it open and saw that it was from Eliot again. He always addressed his letters towards Eliot rather than his Grandfather. He thought about writing directly to Grandfather Laurent one time but quickly decided against it. If his Grandfather couldn't be bothered to write a letter to his grandson, then Alexander could just be as stubborn. Eliot's letter was short:

Dear Alexander,

Sorry, there are no muffins this time. I promise to send something for the next letter. About your flying lessons, your Grandfather once told me that the key to mastering a broom is confidence. No broom is going to yield if the flyer is nervous and stuttering. You have to be self-assured and assertive. Believe me, your Grandfather was a master flier in the day. He could have played for France if he didn't work for the French and British ministry.

All my love,

Eliot.

Alexander smiled. Eliot knew how to assure him. Grandfather never told him that he was a Quidditch player in the day.

There was a lot that Grandfather Laurent hadn't told him. Alexander's expression darkened until the screech of a barn owl broke the pages of his thoughts. He caught the eye of Hermione who stared at him curiously. He shifted his attention towards Neville.

Neville held a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble which seemed to be full of white smoke.

'It's a Remembrall!' he exclaimed. 'Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red, oh – ' His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly filled with clouds red of smoke, ' – you've forgotten something .'

'Neville,' laughed Alexander warmly, 'you've forgotten your robes.'

Neville had indeed left his school robes. The boy blushed as laughter erupted and thanked Alexander. The Remembrall shifted back into white smoke. Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Alexander's expression quickly shifted to a frown, like someone had wiped it off with a cloth, and he remained sitting. Harry and Ron jumped to their feet.

'Blondie,' Alexander said. 'Don't test my patience. Give it back otherwise, your arse will be thrown across this Hall.'

Alexander grazed the handle of his wand, warning Malfoy. The ferret's expression faltered for a slight second but before he could counter, Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

'What's going on?'

'Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor,' said Neville.

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table. 'Just looking,' he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

Neville breathed out a sigh of relief. 'Thank you, Alexander,' he whispered, as Alexander continued cutting his pancakes.

Alexander shrugged. 'I hate bullies.'

Hermione snapped, 'You shouldn't be fighting. It's against the rules. You'll get Gryffindor into trouble.'

Alexander sighed in irritation. 'Oh, so, I'm supposed to sit still like a statue, foolishly gawking, while that blonde ferret carries on harassing my friend. That's what you want, right?' he seethed.

'No!' Hermione hissed, cheeks reddening. 'You're supposed to tell a teacher. They exist for a reason.' She stood up, hands placed on the table. 'Now _if_ you will excuse me, I'm off to the library.'

And with that, she stormed off. Neville stared anxiously.

'You know what I think,' Alexander scoffed as Neville listened, 'that girl has slightly _too_ much trust in authority.'

∞ ϟ 9¾

By the time three-thirty rolled by that afternoon, Alexander had cooled down. He regretted lashing out at Hermione – he definitely could have handled it better – but not for defending Neville. He usually wasn't so irritant, which lead him to wonder if his Grandfather's lack of communication was the cause.

Hermione wasn't exactly friendly to him afterwards but nor was she outright ignoring him. She greeted Alexander stiffly as the two of them and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps for their first flying lesson. The weather was perfect for flying. Clear and breezy enough to maintain control and soar into the air. The grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Alexander stared. So these were the school broom that Fred and George complained to him about. The twins had warned him, when they found out about his upcoming flying lesson, that the school brooms were faulty, where some started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left. It made him wonder why the brooms weren't replaced if they were such a hazard to students' safety. When Alexander voiced this remark, the twins explained that Hogwarts didn't have the budget to obtain brand new brooms. This confused Alexander. Surely, the _greatest_ school of Witchcraft and Wizardry had a high budget. What did the other schools have instead?

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

'Well, what are you all waiting for?' she barked. 'Everyone, stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.'

Alexander stood in the middle of Harry and Hermione. His broom was old and some of the twigs were stuck at odd angles. He wasn't an expert on brooms, but anyone could recognise that this broom was unsuitable for proper flying.

'Stick out your right hand over your broom,' called Madam Hooch at the front, 'and say _up_!'

Alexander glanced at his broom and recalled Eliot's letter: the trick was confidence. With a poised and assertive voice, he shouted, 'Up!'

Surprisingly, the advice had work, and his broom jumped into his hand at once. He could feel the humming of the broom, the soft vibrations seeping through his hand. It must have a certain type of charm.

He glanced at his fellow peers. Harry also held the broom in his hand, unfortunately, so did Malfoy. The blonde ferret was smirking most arrogantly at the struggling students. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all, though perhaps that was because Neville's voice had a quaver, clearly signalling that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground. Hermione's voice was demanding and bossy. He stifled a grin at that and leaned in to whisper next to her, without attracting Madam Hooch's attention.

'Hermione, say it more confidently. You want your broom to listen to you, not reject your demands.'

Hermione gave him a steady stare from the corner of her eyes, almost making him think that she was purposefully ignoring him, then did as he advised. Her broom did come into her hands, though with a slight reluctance. Hermione appeared stunned, then threw him a thankful nod. Alexander beckoned his head as if to say you're welcome.

Madam Hooch then showed the class how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.

'Mr Malfoy,' she lightly reproved, 'you're holding the broom wrong. You need a steadier grip. You don't want to go sliding down the end – no, not like that.'

Alexander snorted. _Serves you right for bragging, you pompous arse_ he thought. Harry and Ron must have thought the same thing because their expressions looked as if Christmas had come early.

'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,' said Madam Hooch. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —'

But to Alexander's delight quickly turned to horror, as he watched Neville, nervous, jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. He gripped his broom tight.

'Come back, boy!' Hooch shouted.

Neville was rising as a cork shot out of a bottle. Twelve feet — twenty feet. His scared white face peered down at the ground falling away, and then, taking a turn for the worse, he slipped sideways off the broom and —

Alexander suppressed a gasp as — WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight. Without a second thought, Alexander raced to where Neville had fallen, Madam Hooch on his heels.

'Neville!' He bent down and heard Neville's tiny, painful whimpers. Madam Hooch also bent over Neville, her face as white as his.

'Broken wrist,' she muttered. 'Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get.'

She then addressed Alexander. 'Go back with the class. I'll take this boy to the Hospital Wing.'

 _Again_ , sighed Alexander in his mind. Madam Pomfrey would be _so_ glad to see Neville again after curing the boils so soon.

'He will be alright, won't he?' he blurted out worriedly.

Madam Hooch's sharp, hawk-like expression softened. 'He'll be fine, Mr Laurent. Please, get back with your class.'

She turned to the rest.

'None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch' – come on, dear.'

Neville, tear-streaked and clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. Alexander clenched his jaw, and possibly his fist in case the blonde found himself to be on the receiving end of it. He walked back to his spot.

'Did you see his face, the great lump?'

The other Slytherins joined in. Blaise, thankfully, kept silent; he simply watched the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' snapped Parvati.

'Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?' said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. 'Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies, Parvati.'

'She doesn't,' cut in Alexander, 'but you sure like little blonde ferrets who can't wipe his arse without calling daddy dearest.'

The Gryffindors laughed, Ron's voice being the loudest. Briefly, he heard Hermione gasp behind him.

Pansy reddened with anger and embarrassment, and she started to shake. Malfoy glowered at him until then something caught his eye.

'Look!' he said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. 'It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.'

'Give it back, blondie,' Alexander spat.

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

Malfoy laughed. 'Maybe if he squeezed it, he might have remembered to fall on his fat arse.'

Harry, it seemed had also become fed up with the ferret's taunts. 'Give that here, Malfoy,' he said quietly.

Malfoy smiled nastily. 'I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?'

'I swear to God if you don't –'

'Give it here!' Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Apparently, he hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, 'Come and get it, Potter and Laurent! What's the matter, a bit behind your reach?'

Alexander seized his broom, blood thrumming furiously in his ears, until a small, but firm, grip held his upper arm.

'No!' Hermione pleaded with him, 'Alexander, please. Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble.'

Exhaling deeply, Alexander was compelled to listen to Hermione, though he didn't exactly like it. He loosened the hold on his broom. Harry, however, ignored her. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up he soared. Hermione still hadn't let go of Alexander's arm as Harry climbed into the air.

Alexander watched, hand raised over his temple to block the sun, as Harry's robes and hair whipped behind him. Harry then pulled the broomstick up to go higher. Screams and gasps of the girls sounded around Alexander. Hermione's grip became tighter. Ron let out an admiring whoop. _Come on, Harry. Wipe that smug smile off the ferret's face_.

Harry then leaned forward and shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. To Alexander's disappointment, Malfoy swerved out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp turn. A few people clapped at the action. Alexander couldn't hear what the two were saying through the rush of the wind, but just then Malfoy threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. Alexander vowed that if Neville's Remembrall smashed into pieces, Malfoy's face was going to be next.

Harry started to fall, and he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball. He must be absolutely insane. He was going to crash into the hard ground. People who were watching screamed in fear. He was three feet away – two feet –

When Harry was a foot from the ground his arm reached out to catch the ball, then swiftly pulled his broom straight, and toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

Alexander watched in awe at the dive, astonished that Harry wasn't a splattered pancake against the grass. His relief was short-lived as a stern voice caused his heart to sink. He swivelled around, hoping it wasn't the case.

'HARRY POTTER!'

Oh, but it was. Professor McGonagall was running toward them, white-faced and trembling.

'Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —'

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock and her glasses flashed furiously, 'How dare you — might have broken your neck—'

'It wasn't his fault, Professor —'

'Be quiet, Miss Patil —'

'But Malfoy —'

'That's enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.'

'Professor, he's not at fault,' argued Alexander loudly, rushing to keep up with the two.

'Mr Laurent, be quiet.'

'But –'

Professor McGonagall stopped abruptly. Her stare was fierce.

'Speak another word, Mr Laurent, and you'll be in detention until the end of the year. I haven't forgotten about your one for fighting.'

Alexander thought this was a reasonable compromise especially if it meant Harry wasn't expelled from Hogwarts and was about to argue this exact case, when Harry shook his head, urging him not to say anything. Deflating, Alexander helplessly watched as Harry trailed after the Transfiguration Professor. This is so great, he muttered to himself. One of his friends was about to be expelled and another was in the Hospital Wing. And he didn't even get to learn to fly as Madam Hooch chose to return then and dismissed them for the end of the lesson.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Alexander and Ron sat in the common room, worrying about Harry's fate, while they were playing a game of chess. It was a game that neither had the heart to play. Though Alexander was a good chess player, due to playing with his Grandfather on the rare occasion, he was mediocre compared to Ron's skill. Alexander thought Ron could easily beat some of the world-class chess players and not break a sweat while doing it. At eleven years old as well.

'Do you think they're gonna expel him?' Ron asked, his blue eyes stared worriedly into Alexander's.

Alexander bit his lip but shook his head. 'No, I don't think so.' Yet, his tone was hesitant. 'I don't think Dumbledore would be that harsh.'

Ron sighed then moved a piece on the board, causing him to win Alexander's pawn.

'Besides,' Alexander went on, 'even if he does, we'll be his witnesses.' He thought about this while playing chess. 'There was a whole class of witnesses who'll agree with us.'

'Yeah, but so were the Slytherins. They'll be on Malfoy's side,' said Ron glumly.

Alexander furrowed his brows thoughtfully. 'Not _all_ of the Slytherins, perhaps.' At Ron's confused glance he rushed to explain, 'according to Blaise, who's a Slytherin, not everyone in Slytherin likes him. Some just tolerate him. I think Blaise and two other people may argue against Malfoy.'

Ron's eyes lit up for the first time. 'So – so there's a chance?'

Alexander nodded. 'There's always a chance. And even if it doesn't, I have a backup plan. I'll write to my Grandfather, asking for an appeal. He works closely with the Minister – he may be able to do something,' Alexander reassured.

'Your Grandfather, Antoine Laurent, right?' Ron confirmed.

'That's right.'

Alexander didn't like it, but he would do it – write to his Grandfather that is. Anything that would help Harry was worth it. He checked his watch.

'Come on. It's almost time for dinner. Harry has to be in the Hall to tell us his fate.'

'Checkmate!' Ron declared and effectively ended the game.

Sure enough, Harry was in the Great Hall for dinner. But rather than the gloomy expression, Alexander expected him to have, Harry, appeared excited. Alexander breathed a sigh of relief. Well, at least it confirmed at his friend wasn't expelled.

What Harry was excited for, he discovered, was Quidditch.

'You're _joking_.'

Harry had just finished telling Alexander and Ron what had happened after he had left with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it. Alexander was too stunned to remind Ron of his distasteful eating habits. He sat wide-eyed and his jaw dropped as Harry grinned at both.

'Wait, a Seeker?' Alexander asked. 'For the Gryffindor team?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, Professor McGonagall fetched the captain – that's Wood, by the way – and told him that he had a new Seeker. So, that's me, I suppose.'

Alexander blinked. 'This school is so _weird_. Getting rewarded for breaking a rule.'

'It's because he's the Boy Who Lived and all that,' Ron grinned. Harry shrugged uncomfortably.

'Hm, maybe,' said Alexander.

Ron continued amazed, 'But first years never — you must be the youngest House player in about —'

'— a century,' finished Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth.

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry. Alexander laughed at Ron's gormless expression.

'I start training next week,' said Harry. 'Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.'

'That means it'll be known to half the school by the start of tomorrow,' snorted Alexander, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall and hurried over.

'Well done,' said George in a low voice. 'Wood told us. We're on the team too — Beaters.'

'How fitting,' smirked Alexander.

'Now, now, Alexi-boy,' said Fred. 'We're all about _beating_ the other team. I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year.'

'You haven't won any other year?' asked Alexander curiously.

'No, we haven't, not since Charlie left.' Fred shook his head but his face lit up as he addressed Harry, 'but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.'

'So, no pressure, Harry,' grinned Alexander at Harry. Harry looked far less amused, however.

'Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school.'

'Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you,' said George.

'Tell me if you do find it,' Alexander called at the two as they walked away. Fred turned back to salute at him.

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Alexander groaned loudly.

'Go away, blondie. Your face is putting me off my food,' he grumbled.

Malfoy glared at Alexander but couldn't find any retort. It seemed as if the spell Alexander threw at him the other day scared him. Instead, he taunted Harry, trying to get a rise out of him.

'Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?'

'You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,' said Harry coolly.

Little didn't describe Crabbe and Goyle, of course, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

'I'd take you on anytime on my own,' said Malfoy. 'Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?'

Alexander's attention was caught, and his head sharply rose. What was that blonde ferret doing? A wizard's duel. Alexander was worried. Although he hated to admit it, Malfoy did come from a wizarding family and possibly knew more spells than Harry did. Harry informed him and Ron that he came from a muggle family and didn't realise he was a wizard until his eleventh birthday. There was a clear disadvantage.

'Of course, he has,' said Ron, wheeling around. 'I'm his second, who's yours?'

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

'Crabbe,' he said. 'Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.'

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.

'What is a wizard's duel?' said Harry. 'And what do you mean, you're my second?'

' _Pour l'amour de dieu_ ,' muttered Alexander in exasperation. 'Harry, why would you do something you have no idea how to do?'

'He has to duel,' Ron cut in. 'No way is Harry letting Malfoy get the better of him, right?'

'Alright then, enlighten me, both of you,' Alexander leaned back and crossed his arms, 'how exactly do you plan on duelling that blonde ferret? Do either of you know actually any spells?'

Ron was silent and Harry appeared worried. Alexander was unimpressed.

'I thought not. And you, Ron, do you know what a second is for?'

'Well, a second's there to take over if you die,' said Ron slowly. Catching the look on Harry's horrified expression, he quickly assured, 'But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards.'

'Exactly.' Alexander's voice startled the two clueless boys. 'The most Harry will be able to do is send sparks at Malfoy. You don't exactly see people surrendering due to sparks. You don't know enough magic to do any real damage, but I'm worried that Malfoy _does_ because he is from a wizarding family.'

Harry looked deathly pale and uttered a question. 'But what if I wave my wand to send sparks and nothing happens?'

'Throw it away and punch him on the nose,' Ron suggested.

'You two are hopeless,' sighed Alexander, running a hand through his hair. 'Look, I'll stand-in for Harry as second instead. Flitwick had been teaching me extra spells that _may_ be useful in a duel and there's all that extra reading I did as well.'

Ron was not happy but conceded to the suggestion. He still pledged to come with them.

'I want to see the look on Malfoy's face when Alexander beats him,' muttered Ron.

'What? Not me?' said an alarmed Harry.

Ron hastened to speak, 'No, 'course you will, Harry, I –'

'Excuse me.'

All three boys looked up. It was Hermione, her face stern and an eyebrow raised. Alexander fought the urge to sink in his seat. He felt like he was caught by his Grandfather.

'Can't a person eat in peace in this place?' said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

'I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —'

'Bet you could,' Ron muttered.

'— and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you.'

'And it's really none of your business,' said Harry.

'Good-bye,' said Ron. And they both stalked off out of the Hall. Hermione turned to stare accusingly at Alexander.

'Don't do this, Alexander,' she implores.

Alexander rubbed his temple, feeling a tiny headache emerge.

'I have no choice, Hermione. Those two are completely naïve. They don't know how to duel. I'm worried Malfoy will seriously harm Harry.'

'Yes, you do have a choice. And you're choosing to place your interests above your House.' She glared at him.

Alexander breathed out loudly through his nose. Did she not listen to him? He just said that Harry could be seriously harmed.

'I don't know what to tell you, Hermione. Now if you'll excuse me, I have lost my appetite.'

∞ ϟ 9¾

That evening Alexander listened to Ron's advice to Harry such as 'if he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it because I can't remember how to block them.' That wouldn't be a bad idea considering the circumstances.

Other factors also caused Alexander to fret. There was a good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris. Those two were always skulking around the castle. It would have been better if Harry and Ron had turned down Malfoy's request, but it was too late now: Harry had to duel.

At last, Alexander signalled to the other boys by glancing at his watch. 'Half-past eleven.'

Ron muttered, 'Right, we'd better go.'

Harry and Ron pulled on their bathrobes while Alexander decided on a t-shirt - it was much each to move around in; they picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room.

A few embers were glowing in the fireplace. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a harsh voice scared them from the chair nearest them, 'I can't believe you're going to do this.'

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown. Alexander stared at her, exasperated.

'You!' said Ron in a furious hush. 'Go back to bed!'

'I almost told your brother,' Hermione snapped, 'Percy — he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this.'

Alexander clenched his jaw. 'Don't tell me you did?'

'Of course, not,' she sniffed.

Harry had enough of the interfering girl. He ignored her presence and said, 'Come on' to the two, before moving to push open the portrait of the Fat Lady.

'Let's go, Alex,' called Harry.

Hermione glared at Alexander; he shrugged carelessly and followed Harry and Ron through the hole.

Hermione, true to nature, wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Alexander through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

'Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.'

'Hermione,' snapped Alexander, reaching the end of his patience. 'I beg for you to shut up and go back to your bed.'

Hermione recoiled from his harsh tone then equally fired back.

'All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—'

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

'Now what am I going to do?' she asked shrilly.

'That's your problem,' said Ron. 'We've got to go, we're going to be late.'

Alexander nodded. They did seem to be cutting it a bit close, and he'd hate to see the look on the ferret's face when he realised this. They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

'I'm coming with you,' she said.

'You are not,' snorted Ron.

'Do you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all four of us, I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.'

'You've got some nerve—' said Ron loudly.

'Okay, fine!' interrupted Alexander. 'You can come, but don't make any noise.'

Ron turned to stare incredulously at him. 'Why would –'

'Shut up, all of you!' said Harry sharply. 'I heard something.'

Harry was right. There was a sort of snuffling, somewhere close to them. None of them dared to breathe.

'Mrs. Norris?' Ron squinted through the dark.

Fortunately, to their relief, it wasn't Mrs Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

'Neville,' breathed Alexander. 'It's good to see you mate.' His heart lightened at the glimpse of his friend.

'Thank goodness you're here Alexander! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get into bed.'

'Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere,' said Ron.

Neville looked disheartened.

'How's your arm?' inquired Alexander.

'Fine,' said Neville, showing them. 'Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.'

'Good – I left your Remembrall on your bed, by the way, Neville.'

'Thanks,' smiled Neville.

Harry spoke, 'Well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later—'

'Don't leave me!' said Neville, scrambling to his feet, 'I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron has passed twice already.'

'He's not that terrifying,' argued Alexander, gaining weird looks from the others.

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

'If either of you gets us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies spell Quirrell told us about and used it on you.'

Alexander rolled his eyes. 'Great, come join our party. Glad that is sorted. Can we go now, please?'

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They darted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the windows. At every turn, Alexander anticipated Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. The minutes crept by. Why wasn't Malfoy here yet? Is he going to come?

A cold feeling gripped Alexander as a sudden realisation hit him. 'We need to go, _now_.'

He can't believe he's been so stupid. Hermione had been right all along.

'What do you mean, we can't leave. I have to duel Malfoy,' said a confused Harry.

'He's late, maybe he's chickened out,' Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry raised his wand, but Alexander was about to reach out an arm to pull Harry's arm down when they heard someone speak — and it wasn't Malfoy.

'Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.'

It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Gritting his teeth, Alexander grabbed the arm nearest to him and scurried out silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. He had latched on to Hermione's arm, who appeared too scared to even scold him. The others were right behind his heels. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

'They're in here somewhere,' Alexander heard him mutter, 'probably hiding.'

'This way!' Harry mouthed to them and petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run.

'Neville, no,' Alexander hissed.

But Neville tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour. The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

' _Fils de pute_ ,' he cursed.

'RUN!' Harry yelled.

The five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following. They swung around the doorpost, down one corridor then another, without any idea where they were or where they were going; they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway.

'That's the Charms classroom,' pointed out Alexander, slightly breathless. He had to exercise more.

'Good, that means it's miles away from Filch,' Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead, 'I think we've lost him.'

Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

'I — told — you,' Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, 'I — told — you.'

'Hermione, _s'il vous plait_ , you can lecture me about my stupidity later.'

'We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower,' said Ron, 'quickly as possible.'

'Malfoy tricked you,' Hermione said to Harry. 'You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you — Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.'

Hermione voiced Alexander's thoughts. _She was right as always,_ he bitterly thought. It had crept upon his mind before Filch came into the trophy room. The blonde ferret tricked them. He was never going to be there. He was a Slytherin. Cunning and devious. Alexander could have kicked himself. How could he not have realised it?

'Let's go,' instructed Harry.

They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. Alexander groaned. The universe must have had some type of grudge against them. Of all the wrong timings in the world, it had to happen now.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and squealed with delight.

'Shut up, Peeves — please — you'll get us thrown out,' begged Harry.

Peeves cackled. 'Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.'

'Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please.'

'Harry, be quiet,' ordered Alexander. 'He not going to do what you want if you keep demanding it.'

'Should tell Filch, I should,' said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. 'It's for your own good, you know.'

Ronald Weasley, right at that moment, decided it would be a terrific idea to shout at Peeves.

'Get out of the way,' snapped Ron.

'STUDENTS OUT OF BED!' Peeves bellowed, 'STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!'

'Absolutely brilliant, Ron!' scowled Alexander.

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door and it was locked.

'This is it!' Ron moaned as they pushed helplessly at the door, 'We're done for! This is the end!'

'Stop being so dramatic, we're not.' Alexander pushed as hard as he could at the door.

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

'Oh, move over,' Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, ' _Alohomora_!'

The lock clicked and the door swung open; they all piled through, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against the door, listening.

'Which way did they go, Peeves?' Filch was saying. 'Quick, tell me.'

'Say please.'

'Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?'

'Shan't say nothing if you don't say please,' said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

'All right — please.'

'Nothing!' Peeves let out a glorious cackle. 'Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please!' And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

 _Peeves, you have your moments_ , thought Alexander, light-headed from relief.

'He thinks this door is locked,' came Harry's whisper. 'I think we'll be okay — get off, Neville!'

'What is it?'

Alexander turned around and immediately wished that he hadn't. He wanted to go back to those glorious moments of ignorance and wallow in it. For they weren't in a room or an abandoned classroom for that matter. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor. And now they knew exactly why it was forbidden.

The eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor, gazed straight into Alexander's soul. Alexander gaped at the creature. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling eyeballs, three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction, three drooling mouths with saliva dangling from yellowish fangs.

Alexander swallowed, hardly daring to breathe, otherwise, the next thing he'd know is the inside of the dog's stomach if he made any sudden movements. All six eyes were staring, and thunderous growls sounded, causing tiny vibrations under their feet. Alexander frantically scanned every inch of the dog. A particular sight caught his eye. Something lay below the dog's feet.

Suddenly, the door opened because of Harry and they stumbled backwards. Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran back down the corridor. _Come on, come on._ Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared. _Nearly there_. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

'Where on earth have you all been?' she asked, looking at their flushed, sweaty faces.

'Never mind that — pig snout, pig snout,' panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

 _'Oh, mon putain de dieu_ ,' faintly whispered Alexander, clutching the arms of the couch tightly.

'You've got that right,' murmured Ron, though he didn't quite understand.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville looked as if he would never speak again. Alexander's mouth felt dry and bubbles of guilt settled deep in his stomach. Why didn't he just listen to Hermione? She had warned him after all. How could they have fallen for the ferret's trick?

Ron finally broke the silence. 'What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school? If any dog needs exercise, that one does.'

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. Alexander knew she had earned it. She and Neville deserved to be angry for what she was dragged into tonight.

'You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?' she snapped. 'Didn't you see what it was standing on?'

'The floor?' Harry suggested. 'I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads.'

'It was standing on a trapdoor,' spoke Alexander, turning the attention upon him. He was staring into the absent fireplace. 'It's there for a reason.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Alexander is right. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something.'

She then stood up, glaring at them.

'I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.'

Despite the tense situation, Alexander could help but to snort in amusement. Hermione did know how to make an exit.

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

'No, we don't mind,' he said. 'You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you? Honestly, she needs to sort out her priorities.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far. Thank you for reading. Your thoughts are welcomed. I hope you're keeping safe and well. The UK is in another lockdown until mid-February, I think, because of our incompetent government. Love that for us.


	9. A Troll Mishap

Alexander was not able to get sufficient sleep and woke up the next morning tired. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of the three-headed dog, slobbering and growling, haunted his thoughts. Sometimes, during the scene, the dog bit the heads of his friends; his limbs were frozen, and no matter how much wanted he wanted to move, he stood horrified and screaming. Other times, the dog would lunge at him, or Hermione, and he'd wake up from the nightmare, sweating and disorientated.

Yet, the knowledge of the dog guarding something tickled Alexander's mind constantly. Someone had almost stolen whatever it was from Gringotts, according to the newspaper Harry showed him. How valuable was the thing the dog was guarding? Was it even an object? He quickly ruled out money or jewels. Those objects would have been hidden in a Gringotts vault – much tighter security than Hogwarts. Which meant the treasure must have some sort of magical properties, desirable ones that were worth braving a dragon, not to mention the goblins, at the bank. The thief must either be very desperate and clever or stupid.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. Alexander longed to tell Hermione his theories about the treasure, except for the tiny fact that she was ignoring him. Not to say that he didn't deserve it after his recklessness, but he couldn't help feeling disheartened. But it wasn't just him; Hermione steadfastly refused to talk to the three boys after the incident. She disregarded Alexander's attempts to speak to her in the common room, and when she did acknowledge him, it was through a mixture of stiff glances and fierce glares. Harry and Ron, meanwhile, were altogether pleased for Hermione's lack of communication. They thought because she was such a bossy know-it-all, her behaviour was a bonus after her lectures and nagging; Alexander thought it as a torment. At least when she was angry with him, she spoke to him.

The next morning, when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, Malfoy's face appeared shocked. Alexander scowled and promised that the blonde ferret would get what was coming to him.

He spotted Fred and George at the breakfast table, and an idea occurred to him. Alexander made his way over to them and took a seat next to George with a serious expression on his face. Fred and George were surprised, their eyebrows raised.

'Morning, Alexi-boy, how are you on this fine morning?' asked Fred cheekily.

'Fancy a bit of toast?' George continued.

Alexander waved a hand. 'In a minute. I want to talk to you guys about something.'

'Well, you know us –'

'Yeah, we're as serious as they come – '

Fred and George crossed their arms on the table and leaned forward to signal that they were all ears.

'Good, because I wanted to ask if you do targeted pranks?'

The twins' eyes lit up mischievously.

'Oooo, have someone in mind, do you, Alex?' smirked George.

'I think he does, Gred,' Fred scanned Alexander inquisitively.

'So, go on, tell your partners in crime who the lucky, or shall we say unfortunate, individual is.'

Alexander examined the Slytherin table over Fred's shoulder and sure enough, the blonde ferret was sat with his two gorillas, shovelling food into his mouth.

'You see that first year over there, on the Slytherin table. I want us to prank him.'

Fred frowned. 'Isn't that Lucius Malfoy's kid?' His voice dripped with disdain.

Alexander furrowed his brows. 'Wait, who's Lucius Malfoy?'

George snorted. 'A right royal git, that's who.'

'He's on the Board of Governors,' explained Fred.

'Yeah, and in Minister Fudge's pocket.'

Alexander rolled his eyes. 'Like father, like son. I can tell you that his son is _une sous-merde_.'

Fred and George grinned at him and glimmers of curiosity shone in their blue eyes.

'I always forget you're half-French, Alex,' said Fred. 'Your accent barely has a hint of French.'

'I was born in London,' Alexander shrugged. 'My Grandfather taught me French, but I haven't technically exactly been to France.'

'So, do you any idea of how you want to do it?' Fred asked, bringing the subject back at hand. 'The prank, I mean.'

'I have an idea. But it requires your help, particularly with a spell.'

'We're with you, Alexi-boy.'

Alexander smiled brightly. 'Good, I'll tell you the details later because I don't want to be overheard by the other tables.'

'Ah, they grow up so fast, Forge. He's planning his own pranks now.' George wiped an imaginary tear with one finger.

'Alexi-boy is almost a man, Gred. Especially now that he's friends with a few girls.' The twins' mirth echoed.

Alexander smirked at them. 'Jealous, Weasleys? That I've already had my first kiss and you both haven't. Don't worry you'll get there soon.'

The two laughed good-naturedly.

'We're off to meet Lee Jordan, but we'll catch up with you later,' Fred said, and the twins bounded off, their flame-red hair disappearing out of the door.

As Alexander reached for his black coffee, Harry and Ron entered the Hall looking tired but perfectly cheerful. He stared as the two moved over to where he sat, Harry with a slight jump in his steps. How the hell are those two so happy after last night? Then again, he was talking about Harry and Ron – two of the most oblivious and irresponsible friends Alexander has ever had.

'How come you two are so chirpy this morning?' he demanded, spreading butter on his toast.

Ron grinned brightly. 'That was some adventure last night. Truly excellent!'

Alexander blinked, his toast hovering before he could take a bite. Was Ron being serious? The ginger acted as if their encounter was like a fun family trip to the zoo. Harry, unfortunately, also agreed with Ron's opinion as he nodded eagerly.

'Yeah, we should have one again soon. I can't wait.' The two grinned at each other.

Alexander ran a hand through his hair, which he usually did when stressed, frustrated, or in this particular case, exasperated.

'You two are completely out of your minds. This cavalier attitude almost got us expelled.'

'Cav–what?' Lines formed between Harry's eyebrows.

'Yeah, but we didn't,' shrugged Ron carelessly, placing a few sausages on his plate.

Alexander sighed, shaking his head, then took a sip of coffee. The goblets he drank out of seemed peculiar to pour coffee into, but they were better than having no coffee at all.

In the meantime, Harry filled Ron and Alexander in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could need such heavy protection.

'It's either really valuable or really dangerous,' said Ron.

Alexander chewed his toast thoughtfully. 'Why not both? I mean we can't exactly rule anything out so far. We don't have any ideas what it could be.'

'Alexander's right,' affirmed Harry. 'We only know it's about two inches long and the dog is guarding it.'

Without further clues, the three boys didn't have much chance of guessing what it was.

'One thing I keep thinking about though,' Alexander wondered, shaking his head, 'is why Hogwarts was chosen? I mean Gringotts is the safest place, security-wise. If someone almost succeeded in stealing from there, what chance does the school does?'

'It's to do with Dumbledore, probably,' Ron speculated through a mouthful of food. 'Nobody's going to try if he's around.'

'Yes, that is possible.'

Just then, the mail flew into the Great Hall, as usual, screeching and alerting the students who peered up at the owls. One unusual package, carried by six large screech owls, caught everyone's attention. The package was long and thin, and the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of Harry, knocking his bacon to the floor. _What a waste of good bacon_ thought Alexander. After the parcel, another owl soared and dropped a letter on top.

Alexander stopped Harry before the lightning-scar boy could rip open the parcel out of curiosity before reading the letter.

'Look,' he pointed.

And sure enough, the letter's bold writing on the front declared: DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Harry flushed and threw him a grateful expression. Alexander smirked in amusement. Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read. His cheeks were wide and flushed, and a broad grin lay on his mouth.

'A Nimbus Two Thousand!' Ron moaned enviously. 'I've never even touched one.'

'Um, that's the latest model, right?' asked Alexander, peering at the brown wrapping paper.

Ron nodded enthusiastically. His face glowed and his eyes flickered with delight.

'It's the fastest broomstick ever, it's light and speedy and great for reliability!'

Alexander chuckled at Ron's zeal. It was nice to see his friend genuinely raving about his passion.

'Come on, are you done – great, let's go and open it in private,' proposed Ron, swiftly moving out from the table.

Alexander drank the last gulp of his coffee and left the Hall with Harry and Ron, checking his watch to see how much time they had before their first lesson.

However, halfway across the entrance hall, they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

'That's a broomstick,' he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of envy and spite on his face. 'You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them.'

'You know, Draco,' drawled Alexander, 'jealously isn't a good look on you. Makes you even more ugly than before.'

Malfoy scowled at him, fists clenched at his side. 'I don't need a broomstick. You see, when family love and _pay attention_ to their children, they buy them the best.' He grinned nastily at Alexander. 'I'm not sure you'd know how that feels, Laurent.'

Alexander sharply inhaled to avoid smashing his fist against the ferret's face. Harry quickly grabbed his arm.

Ron couldn't resist it and added to Malfoy's fury. 'It's not any old broomstick, it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?' Ron grinned at Harry and Alexander. 'Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.'

'What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle,' Malfoy snapped back. 'I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.'

Alexander took a step. 'Say that again, ferret-boy. Gone on I dare you.'

Malfoy's smirk faltered and a flicker of fear ran through his eyes, but before Malfoy could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at his elbow.

'Not arguing, I hope, boys?' he squeaked.

'Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,' said Malfoy promptly.

'Yes, yes, that's right,' said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. 'Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?'

Alexander bit his tongue to suppress laughter from erupting due to Malfoy's horrified expression. The ferret looked as if someone had smashed a bat against his head.

'A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,' said Harry, and Alexander saw Harry's lips press together tightly.

Alexander couldn't help himself and shifted his tone into sounding more appreciative. 'And it's thanks to Malfoy here that Harry's got it.'

The three of them headed upstairs, smothering their mirth at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.

'That was brilliant, Alex,' gushed Ron. 'Did you see that git's face when Flitwick ask Harry about the Nimbus?'

A smile tugged at Alexander's lips. 'I know – God I wish I had a camera right then.'

'Well, it's true,' Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, 'if he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team.'

An angry voice rang out from behind them causing Alexander to swivel around.

'So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?'

Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

'I thought you weren't speaking to us?' said Harry.

'Yes, don't stop now,' said Ron with the roll of his eyes, 'it's doing us so much good.'

The two marched past the brunette. Alexander caught Hermione's eye and a moment of silence occurred. Hermione then strode away with her nose in the air. He let out a sigh. That girl had the stubbornness of a heavy boulder stuck to the earth. He didn't know how to get her to talk to him again. _A new book perhaps_ he thought as he walked to his first lesson.

That evening, after eating his dinner, he walked into the dormitories to see Harry and Ron unwrapping the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

'Wow,' Ron sighed, a bit dreamily in Alexander's opinion, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Alexander laughed. 'Careful, Ron. Anyone would think you're falling in love with that broomstick.'

Ron threw him a dirty glance. 'Shut up, Alex.' Ron's eyes explored every inch of the Nimbus, mouth parted and eyes wide. 'I've never even seen one this close before.'

Alexander had to admit that the Nimbus was marvellous to look at, despite not knowing anything about broomsticks. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

'How fast does it go?' he asked in a curious tone, walking closer to gain a better view.

Ron jumped to answer, 'It speeds up to a hundred miles per hour, and it's capable of turning 360 degrees at a fixed point in mid-air.'

Alexander raised an eyebrow, placing his hand inside the pockets of his jeans. 'Eh, I guess for a broom it's not that bad. I mean the Porsche CTR goes faster. It's 211 miles.'

Reading Eliot's magazines about different models of cars gave him some insight into the world of cars.

Ron spluttered and stared at him, aghast, as if he had spoken blasphemy to a monk. Alexander, rolling his eyes, picked up his book, and lay across his bed to read.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The day Halloween morning rolled by Alexander woke to the delicious aroma of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. During previous Halloween days, he and Eliot would dress up to go trick or treating around the houses in Notting Hill, collecting Mars Bars, Milky Ways, and other types of chocolates. He prayed he'd never get Bounty from some of the old ladies and his luck often came in hand. He and Eliot would watch horror films, despite Eliot's fear of scary films, and sometimes when his Grandfather arrived from work, he would join them. It was a shame he wasn't able to spend Halloween with his Grandfather and Eliot, but he supposed Hogwarts be just as enchanting.

In Charms, Professor Flitwick announced that they were ready to start making objects fly, something most of the class had been longing to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Alexander suppressed a laugh as Ron was working with Hermione. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was madder about this – eyes akin to daggers were thrown. The classroom chimed with sounds.

'Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!' squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. 'Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.'

Alexander, however, had already mastered the spell during Flitwick's tutoring sessions. Flitwick approached his desk, barely reaching the edge of the table.

'Ah, Mr Laurent, would you mind demonstrating the levitation charm for me again?'

Alexander picked up his word, cleared his throat, and said in a clear voice, ' _Wingardium Leviosa_.' The feather rose into the ear; this time Alexander was able to control his wand much easier after the first attempt and the feather rose even higher, causing the Gryffindors to watch in awe.

Flitwick beamed and clapped. 'Yes, well done, Mr Laurent. Now seeing as you know how to do the spell, I want you to practice a new spell.'

Alexander watched as the tiny Professor reached up to place an apple on his desk.

'The spell is usually for second-years, and it is known as the engorgement charm. It causes the target to swell. Once you've mastered this, then we can learn the counter-charm – shrinking.'

Alexander nodded, taking down notes as Flitwick explained.

'Now, the incantation is _Engorgio_. I would like you to make this small apple bigger.'

Alexander nodded and readied his wand against the apple.

'I must warn you, Mr Laurent.' Flitwick's serious tone caused Alexander to peer down at him. 'This spell is not to be taken lightly. If used wrongly, it could cause significant damage.'

'I understand, Professor.'

Flitwick beamed, 'Good,' then left to see how the other students were coping.

As Alexander found out, the engorgement charm was much harder than it sounded and the apple only quivered as he recited the spell.

Suddenly, a loud bang came from where Harry and Seamus were sitting. A small fire appeared. Harry immediately put the fire out with his hat. Judging by the first year's expressions, the others were also becoming impatient with the charm.

Ron wasn't having much more luck. The redhead had a look of pure frustration as he yelled ' _Wingardium Leviosa_ ' and swung his long arms around like a windmill.

Alexander heard Hermione snap. 'You're saying it wrong. It's Wing-gardium Levi- _o_ -sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.'

'You do it, then, if you're so clever,' Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, ' _Wingardium Leviosa_!'

The feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. Alexander grinned as he caught Hermione's eye, causing her to smile softly. It was the first positive reaction he had received from her since.

'Oh, well done!' cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. 'Everyone look here, Miss Granger's done it!'

Alexander winced. Ron practically had steam coming out of his ears. He was in a terrible mood by the end of the class.

'Mr Laurent, keep practising the spell for our next session,' Flitwick called after him as he filled out of the classroom after the others.

He followed the direction Ron and Harry went outside of the crowded corridor and caught the end of their conversation.

'It's no wonder no one can stand her,' fumed Ron, 'she's a nightmare, honestly.'

Alexander's frowned as a figure pushed their way past him as they hurried past. Hermione's bushy hair bounced as she hurried past the two boys in front of Alexander. He just about caught a glimpse of her face which glinted with unshed tears, threatening to fall. A weird ache appeared in his chest and he felt his jaw clench.

'I think she heard you,' Harry muttered in a quiet tone.

Alexander felt his anger burst at Ron's next words.

'So?' Ron's appeared slightly uncomfortable. 'She must've noticed she's got no friends.'

'Didn't your mother teach you to not rude to others?' he spoke up, causing the two to spin round in alarm.

'Alexander, you scared us!' said Harry. Alexander ignored this statement and glared at the two boys who shifted uncomfortably.

'She was only trying to help you,' he said coldly, fixing a piercing stare on the redhead. 'While you were failing, might I add, to do the spell.'

Sometime later, Alexander would realise that he was imitating Grandfather's tone of cold fury against other people.

Ron flushed, the tips of his ears brightly scarlet. He swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing.

'You didn't have to be such a _putain de trou du cul_ about it,' Alexander spat. He turned glaring at Harry who was red as his robes, 'And _you_. You stand up for Neville against Malfoy but not for Hermione.'

Alexander's breathing was thin and ragged, and his nails dug into his skin.

'Malfoy is a bully and right now you're both acting like him.'

The retort was so fierce that Alexander felt it searing his lips. Without waiting for an answer from the two, he darted past them and rushed to find Hermione. To his dismay, she couldn't be found anywhere and didn't turn up for the next class. Hermione had been his first-ever friend in Hogwarts. With a heavy heart, he ran a hand through his hair, and made his way to the Great Hall, vowing to look for her there.

Parvati and Lavender's voices sounded close to the Hall.

'She's been there crying all morning. Not that I blame her,' remarked Lavender.

'Poor Hermione,' Parvati agreed.

Alexander felt his heart jump and bounded for Lavender and Parvati whose eyes' widened as they saw him coming.

'Where did you say she was?' He fixed a stare at them.

'Um, the girl's bathroom on the third floor,' Lavender replied.

'Thanks.'

As Alexander rushed back up the stairs, he ran into Harry and Ron who were making their way down. The latter appeared embarrassed and wouldn't meet Alexander's eye. Shaking his head, he hustled past. This may have meant that he would miss the feast, but he couldn't bring himself to care; Hermione was more pressing at that moment.

When the toilets came into sight, Alexander froze and internally cursed. How was he going to enter? There's no amounting to the punishing he'd receive if a teacher or prefect saw him entering the girls' toilet. As he focused on his dilemma a figure came out of those exact toilets. It was Nia who's eyebrows raised towards her hairline.

'Laurent, what are you doing here? Aren't you meant to be down at the feast?'

Alexander shuffled embarrassingly on his feet. 'Uh, I'm, ah, sort of waiting for my friend who's upset. I wanted to see if she was okay.'

Nia smiled in realisation. 'Ah, the girl who is crying, right? Yeah, I asked if she was okay but I don't think she wants to see anymore. Figured she'd come out in her own time when she's ready.'

Alexander shifted his eyes nervously from the toilets to Nia. Nia, fortunately, seemed to understand.

'You can go in. Not many people use these toilets that often and I think the teachers are all at the feast, so you should be fine.'

Alexander sighed in relief; he could have kissed Nia at that point.

'Try not to make a habit of it though, Laurent,' smirked Nia then left to join the feast.

Taking a deep breath, Alexander entered the toilets. His first thought was how much cleaner it was than the boys' toilets. Perfume fumes lingered in the air, possibly from some of the older girls in the school. There was only one occupied stall. He heard sniffling coming from behind it.

'Hermione, it's me,' said Alexander in a soft tone.

'Alexander, what are you doing here?' he heard her say.

'I wanted to check up on you. I've been looking for you all day, to make sure you were alright.'

Her voice was silent for a moment until she said, 'I'm fine, Alexander. Just go.'

He sighed, gritting his teeth. 'No, you're not. Look, you shouldn't listen to Ron. He's just stupid boy.'

'Oh, really,' she cried bitterly. 'It's not like he's wrong. Maybe I am a nightmare to be around; no one here wants to be friends with me. It's not like it's the first time. Kids in primary school seemed to agree.'

Alexander felt the same weird ache in his chest intensify after hearing Hermione's distress. He swallowed heavily.

'No,' he firmly responded. 'That's not true. You do have friends. You have _me_ as a friend, 'mione.'

Hermione went silent.

Alexander felt his face ablaze as he realised what he had called her and opened his mouth to apologise when the door clicked opened, and a teary-eyed Hermione stood in front of him. She threw her arms around his neck in a hug, startling him. The scent of vanilla wafted strongly into his nostrils, causing a light-headed feeling. His arms lay awkwardly at his side, unsure of what to do. Alexander had never hugged anyone that wasn't Eliot. Even his Grandfather didn't hug him, though he doubted that Grandfather hugged anyone in his life. The difference was that Hermione was a girl, and he had never experienced a girl's or a woman's hug before. It was similar to Eliot's in that it was warm and comforting. Yet, it was also different in a way he couldn't describe in words. A strange fluttery feeling erupted in his stomach. Alexander's arms awkwardly came to rest on her shoulders, but he didn't think Hermione minded his pitiful attempt.

She pulled back and smiled. 'Thank you, Alexander. You're my friend too.'

A part of him was glad the hug had ended but a tiny part was also disappointed. He wondered what was up with him. Shaking his head, internally dismissing it, he checked his watch.

'Come on, we can still make it to the feast if we hurry.'

'I just need to wash my face first. It'll just take a second.'

'That's fine, I'll wait outside before anyone sees me in here.'

Giggling, Hermione walked towards the sink while Alexander left the bathroom and leaned against the wall. Crossing his arms, he sighed in relief. Hermione was happier and finally his friend again. Everything was right in the world. Well, not everything exactly, as he wasn't on good terms with Harry and Ron but he truly wasn't worried. He didn't want to be friends with bullies, who belittled a girl who was only trying to make friends in the only way she knew how.

Then he heard it. A low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet which he knew did not belong to any student or teacher. Alexander froze, hardly daring to breathe. The feet thumped louder. His blood ran cold; it was getting closer to where he and Hermione were.

He might have thought it to be his imagination, but the sight of a huge troll heading towards him, at the end of the passage, is a hard image to ignore. Twelve feet tall, with dull, granite grey skin, the troll grunted as it approached, it's huge dinner-plate eyes fixed on Alexander hiding in the shadows. It had a great lumpy body had a small bald head perched on top like a coconut, with short legs thick as tree trunks and flat feet. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. The smell it omitted was indescribable: a mixture of old socks and dirty public toilets. He fought the urge to gag.

Alexander would have run and escaped as the troll was slower than he was, except for one problem: Hermione. He couldn't leave her alone, and thus Alexander did the only thing he could in the situation: he rushed back into the girls' toilet again.

Hermione glanced around in surprise at his panicked expression.

'Alexander, wha – '

'Shhhh, don't speak,' he hissed.

A deafening grunt stopped her from speaking. Alexander placed a finger over his lips, motioning to keep quiet. Hermione's eyes were blown wide in dread. Out of instinct, Alexander drew his wand and pointed it towards the door of the toilet, jaw clenching, and breath quickening. His heart was thumping so loudly near his ears.

'Hermione,' he dared to whisper, 'Hide in the stalls.'

But before she could do that, a fat, lumpy head peeked inside the toilet. Alexander cursed inside his head. What chance did he and Hermione have against a fully grown troll? Granted he was good at spell work, and Hermione was brilliant and intelligent, they couldn't possibly fight a troll alone. They were only eleven and twelve years old and that thing was enormous.

The creature growled when he saw Alexander pointing a wand at him, and Hermione huddled near the sink, mouth dropped open in fear. The troll stalked into the room and raised a club, seconds away from striking the two.

'Hermione, move!' he shouted, and grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling her and himself out of the way before the club smashed against the sink. Water sprayed everywhere like a burst pipe, splattering on his face and robes.

'Hermione, I need you to run,' he hissed, feeling trickles of water run down his face, but she stood frozen, terrified out of her mind.

The troll was advancing on them, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went. Alexander pushed Hermione away from the troll towards the opposite wall. The creature never looked so big as when Alexander stared up at it, heart racing. It towered over the two first years. His mind ran. He needs to do something. Distract the troll away somewhere. He dodged the club, ran behind the troll, and picked up a shard of a shattered sink, throwing it against its back. _Come on. Come on_.

'Hey! _Imbécile_ , this way.'

He hoped the troll would concentrate on him and sure enough, the creature exhaled angrily as it turned around to smash its club against him. Alexander swiftly threw himself out of the way. A high, petrified scream came from Hermione, making his heart stop. He threw every type of spell he could think of, but none seemed to work. They bounced off the troll, like a trampoline, and if anything, it was only causing the troll to become enraged.

Alexander fell as he tried to narrowly dodge for the hundredth time. His wand tumbled out from his hand and rolled further away. He cursed his luck. A loud thud was triggered by the club hitting the floor in between his legs, causing him to swallow heavily. He tried to crawl away but his back hit the tiled wall. Alexander watched in horror as the club was raised above the troll's head, about to strike him. This was it. He was about to die on the floor of the girls' bathroom by a troll of all things.

'Oi, pea-brain!'

Alexander could have cried from relief. He had never been so glad to hear Ronald Weasley's voice in his life. Harry and Ron had entered the toilets, panicked but determined.

'Confuse it!' Harry yelled, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stepped away from Alexander and lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

Ron threw a metal pipe at it. The troll turned its ugly snout toward Ron instead. Alexander, palm against the wall, got up and grabbed his wand before the troll's heavy feet stepped on it. He saw Hermione huddled near the wall, gazing fearfully at the boys trying to distract the troll.

He ran and pulled at her hand. 'Come on, you need to run Hermione.' But Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was near and had no way to escape.

'Harry!' yelled Alexander, eyes wide as he watched Harry Potter, the brave but extremely stupid boy, take a great running jump and fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind.

Alexander pointed his wand at the troll's head but worried he might hit Harry instead. Harry's wand stuck inside the nose of the troll. Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip Harry off or catch him a terrible blow.

Alexander leapt at the troll; grabbing a sharp, metal pipe, he sunk it into the troll's leg. The creature wailed in pain and swivelled its head down to glare at Alexander.

Before the troll could even raise its club, Ron cried, ' _Wingardium Leviosa_!'

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose into the air, turned slowly over, and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. Alexander was out of breath. Ron was standing with his wand still raised, mouth open in shock. He stared at the troll for any sudden movements.

It was Hermione who spoke first. 'Is it — dead?'

'I don't think so,' said Harry, 'I think it's just been knocked out.'

Alexander sighed. 'Thank God, for that. I don't want to explain to the teachers how a troll is dead.'

Harry bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue. He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

'Urgh – that is revolting.' Alexander scrunched his face in disgust.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them lookup. Someone must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. How could they not, it was hard to miss. A moment later, Professor McGonagall burst into the room, closely followed by Snape and Quirrell. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on the toilet, clutching his heart.

Alexander sighed. _Give it up for our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, ladies and gentlemen_ he thought.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron, Harry, and Alexander. She was furious, all right. Her lips were pressed together and they looked white.

'What on earth were you thinking of?' said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. 'You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?'

 _Merde_ , how were they going to get out of this one. Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. _Looking to blame Harry, I suppose_. Alexander scowled though he didn't display it on his face. He opened his mouth to explain the situation when a small voice came out of the shadows.

'Please, Professor McGonagall — they were looking for me.'

'Miss Granger!'

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last. She looked hesitantly at the others. What was she doing?

'I went looking for the troll because I — I thought I could deal with it on my own — you know because I've read all about them.'

Alexander was speechless. This was something you didn't see every day. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

'If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.'

Alexander rearranged his features to appear as though this story wasn't new to him. He must have done a good job because Professor McGonagall believed Hermione's lie.

'Well — in that case, Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?'

Hermione hung her head. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending to get them out of trouble.

'Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,' said Professor McGonagall in a severe tone. 'I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.'

Hermione left, with a backward glance at the three.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, Ron, and Alexander.

'Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this.'

Alexander felt his mouth twist upwards into a tiny smile.

'Oh and Mr Laurent, make sure you dry your robes. I don't want you dripping all over the common room. You may go.'

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll.

'We should have gotten more than fifteen points,' Ron grumbled.

'That's what you're worried about?' Alexander rolled his eyes. 'We're lucky to even be alive right now.'

'Exactly,' sighed Ron. 'We should have at least gotten 15 each. It wasn't an easy thing to do – fight a troll, I mean. Fifteen points. _Honestly_.' Ron shakes his head incredulously.

'Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's,' Harry reminded them.

'Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,' Ron admitted. 'Mind you, we did save her.'

'It may interest you to know, _Ronald_ , that she may not have needed saving if you weren't so rude in the first place.' Alexander did not look happy.

Ron reddened in embarrassment. 'I – I, yeah, you're right,' he stuttered, avoiding looking at Alexander. 'I was a bit harsh on her.'

' _A bit_?'

'Okay, a lot. And I shouldn't have said it,' Ron squirmed.

Alexander stared at him then nodded. 'Good, you can apologise to Hermione when you see her.' Harry and Ron knew it wasn't an offer.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. 'Pig snout,' they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause.

Alexander cleared his throat. 'Well then.' He fixed a pointed look at Ron.

'Uh – r-right, um, I wanted to say I'm sorry for saying those things to you, Hermione.'

Hermione looked startled. She glanced from Ron to Alexander then smiled softly. 'I forgive you. Thank you for saving me, all of you.' She hurried off to get plates.

'That went rather well, I think,' said Alexander.

Ron sighed in relief.

'Now, come, I haven't had any food from the feast yet. I'm starving. Troll fighting somehow brings about your appetite.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like a near-death experience to build a friendship. Apologies if the action wasn't good; it's not my strongest point.


	10. A Jinxed Broom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this finds you well and safe. Also, my mum tested positive for Covid because she works in a nursery and that clown Boris, the UK prime minister, hasn't said anything about them. But thankfully she only has mild symptoms.

As they entered November, the weather turned chilly. Every morning, the ground donned their jackets of ice sequins. There was a biting chill in the air that brought a crispness to the leaves, bejewelled with frost, that crunched underfoot. Winter was Alexander’s favourite season; wearing jumpers, drinking hot chocolate, and feeling soft snow. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver-skin boots. It made him appear even more like a giant.

When the 19th of November rolled around, Alexander turned twelve years old. It was his first birthday without Grandfather and Eliot, but Alexander didn’t allow himself to feel too disheartened. He had his friends with him after all. The rest of the boys in the dormitories sang him happy birthday when he woke up. It was the first time they were all awake before him. Alexander chuckled at Ron’s off-tune voice which sounded like a warthog trying to sing.

‘I don’t think singing is a career to explore, Ron,’ he smirked.

Ron narrowed his eyes at him while the rest laughed.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever - shut up, you lot,’ scoffed Ron teasingly, then grinned while pointing to a pile near the end of Alexander’s bed. ‘Come on, mate, get up - you’ve got presents.’

Alexander felt a jolt of surprise. Feeling much more alert, he shoved the covers off and walked towards the pile.

‘Go on, Alex,’ encouraged Neville. ‘Open them.’

‘Yeah, before Ron does it for you,’ Dean joked while Seamus snickered.

‘Oi!’

Ron’s present was a packet of chocolate frogs, Harry’s was a collection of wizard sweets. He thanked the two and, to his amusement, Ron’s cheeks turned red while Harry scratched the side of his neck and refused to look at him. Neville gave him a book on Herbology which was very useful.

‘Thanks, mate,’ he grinned. ‘This will help me a lot.’

Neville smiled bashfully.

Dean got him a notebook and Seamus, an ink set.

‘Thanks, guys, I’m grateful for all of this.’ 

Fred sent him a single sock and George sent him the other pair. Alexander laughed at the twins’ ingenuity. Ron groaned at his brothers’ joke and muttered something under his breath.

‘At least they didn’t give you a present that makes your voice sound like a canary,’ said Ron.

Alexander smirked. ‘Let me guess, they did that to you?’

Ron scowled and the tips of his ears turned scarlet. ‘Yeah, on my tenth birthday. Mind you, mum was furious with them.’

The dormitory rang with playful laughter. Alexander felt his heart swell as he stared at his friends. He couldn’t have asked for a better birthday. Most of the other presents were books and sweets from his classmates. He even received a woolly hat and scarf from Nia and Helen. He internally promised to write handwritten thank-you notes to everyone later. 

As he entered the common room, Hermione was waiting. She shifted nervously on her feet. She gave him an odd-shaped package that turned out to be perfume. He took the lid off and sprayed the nozzle on the inside of his wrist. The scent was heady and addicting.

He smirked at her. ‘Are you trying to say that I smell bad?’

‘What? No! I –’ She stared at him as he snorted. ‘Oh, yes, very funny,’ she grumbled half-heartedly.

He smiled gratefully at her. ‘But, honestly, thank you. I really appreciate you getting this for me.’

Hermione’s cheeks became pinkish. ‘It was no trouble. Happy birthday, Alexander.’

‘Really, Hermione?’ said Ron incredulously as he saw the bottle, ‘Perfume?’

‘What?’ she said in a defensive tone. ‘There’s nothing wrong with smelling good.’

‘Er, but, uh, it’s a bit…girly.’ He uttered the last word embarrassingly.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s nothing wrong with smelling good, Ron. Unless you’re telling us that you don’t smell good?’

Ron flushed. ‘No!’

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘You have been very clear. Next time I’ll get you a book.’

Alexander swiftly shook his head. ‘No thank you. I already have enough of those.’ His eyes landed on Ron and with a mirthful tone, he joked, ‘you could get some for Ron, though. He needs it more than anyone.’

‘Huh? Hey!’ Ron yelled.

When the mail arrived in the Great Hall, Apollo brought two letters and two packages. The first two, as expected, were from Eliot wishing him a happy birthday. His gift included a brand-new pack of playing cards and a fiction book.

Ron stared at the pack in bewilderment. He poked a finger at the cover. ‘The cards don’t move?’

Alexander laughed slightly. ‘No, Ron. These are muggle cards. Pictures in the muggle world don’t move.’

Ron frowned. ‘Muggles are so weird.’ He bit into his toast. ‘I still can’t believe you have to go to your lessons, Alex, on your birthday of all days.’

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron. ‘Of course, Alexander has to go, Ron. None of us can afford to miss any lessons, not with exams coming up in the spring.’

‘Hermione, it’s only November!’

‘And it’ll be here before you blink,’ she snapped. ‘Besides, Alexander values his education, don’t you?’ She gazed expectantly at him.

Alexander was amused at his friends’ interaction. ‘Sure.’

Hermione smiled in triumph at Ron who shrugged while finishing the last bits of his toast.

The second letter was from his Grandfather to his astonishment. He hadn’t heard from Grandfather Laurent since September. He almost didn’t expect Grandfather to send him anything. Ripping the letter open, he was disappointed to see it was a short one:

Dear Alexander,

Happy birthday. You’re almost a man now, and so I thought it was only fitting that you wear a man’s watch. Look after it well, it’s a family heirloom but it has your name on it. Keep working hard and stay out of trouble.

Grandfather.

That was it. No how are you, no how you’re doing. Grandfather hadn’t asked how school was, who Alexander’s friends were, or what he had learnt. Alexander didn’t know how to feel about the letter. On the one hand, he was relieved to hear from his Grandfather after months of no communication but also disappointed that Grandfather’s words were so brief.

Sighing, he opened the small package and inside was a velvet case. The wristwatch was gold and circular. He turned to the back and, true to Grandfather’s word, the watch was engraved in cursive writing with his full name: Alexander Frederick Laurent. It felt cold against his skin as he placed it on his wrist.

‘Woah.’ Ron looked at it with slight envy. ‘That looks wicked.’

Hermione peered curiously at it. ‘That looks nice. It suits you.’

Alexander gave a half-smile. ‘Thank you.’

Fred and George entered the Hall. Alexander caught their eye and they both winked – so quickly that it barely happened at all. He stared over at the Slytherin table over the rim of his goblet. Malfoy was bragging to those sat around him.

‘Father is very generous, of course. He buys me whatever I want.’ 

_Come on_. _Any second now_.

‘He promised to buy me a broom, so I’ll expect next ye –’

The was a loud flash and white smoke puffed out from where Malfoy was sitting. A sudden silence overtook the Hall. The students swivelled round to see what had happened. Then a roar erupted, one so loud it was impossible to stop. Harry’s face was one of shock and amusement. Ron had tears streaming down his face and banged the table with his fists repeatedly. Alexander smirked.

The cause for the laughter sat stunned in his seat as people laughed around him. Even Crabbe and Goyle found it hard to suppress their grins. Because where Draco’s Malfoy’s robes should have been a deep, emerald green, were now a startling shade of magenta. His platinum blond hair was dyed salmon-pink. Malfoy’s face burned red as a tomato, a horrible clash with the pink. He swiftly rose from his seat and rushed out of the Hall, cheeks ablaze.

‘That was bloody brilliant!’ said Ron, wiping a tear from his eye.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ grinned Alexander.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Don’t tell me it was you. Professor Snape will carry out a witch hunt to find out who did it.’

She was right. Snape had stormed out of the Hall after Malfoy, face thunderous.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. ‘Hermione, I was sat here with you the entire time. How could it have been me?’

∞ ϟ 9¾

Draco Malfoy’s robes and hair remained pink for the next two weeks. No one – not even the teachers – had been able to figure out how to change it back to the Slytherin green, and so Malfoy was compelled to deal with the change much to his chagrin.

Alexander was worried about Harry, however. For Harry, the Quidditch season had begun, and on Saturday he would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The tensions between the two houses were higher than usual. Harry looked pale and anxious as people approached him while Alexander, Harry, and Ron were walking between classes.

‘Good luck, Harry,’ a second-year boy called out. ‘I know you’ll be brilliant.’ He grinned and the three friends lost sight of him as the boy disappeared around the corner.

‘Well, at least they’re supportive,’ pointed out Alexander.

‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ groaned Harry in a morose tone. ‘People telling me that I will be great or that they’d be holding a mattress underneath when I fly.’

‘Definitely the first one,’ remarked Alexander.

‘How do you figure that out?’ asked Ron.

‘Basically, people won’t expect much from you if they think you’re going to be shit. That way you can shock them when you do something good.’

Ron nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s a good point. You see, Harry. Cheer up, it won’t be too bad.’

Alexander doubted Harry felt any better.

It was fortunate that Hermione was their friend. She had become more lenient about breaking rules since the mountain troll episode. Alexander was a talented student but he was in no way great at explaining homework or concepts to other people. Hermione helped lessen the burden off Harry’s shoulder better than he ever could; she was skilled at articulating. Especially now that Harry had longer and last-minute Quidditch practices that Wood, the Captain, was making him do. Hermione had lent Harry _Quidditch Through the Ages_ so he could learn some helpful tips.

‘So, anything interesting?’ he asked Harry as they were sat in the common room. Alexander was completing his Astronomy homework with Hermione’s help.

‘There are quite a few interesting facts,’ said Harry without raising his head from the book.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, like did you know, there are seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them occurred during a World Cup match in 1473.’

Hermione frowned while Alexander and Ron laughed.

‘Also,’ continued Harry with a grin, ‘referees have been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.’

‘You know, I don’t think this book is helping you learn anything about flying,’ remarked Alexander wryly.

Ron scoffed. ‘Well, ‘course you’re not going to learn Quidditch skills from a book.’

‘Anything about Seekers?’

Harry’s grin slowly faded. ‘Um, well, I found out that Seekers are usually the smallest and fastest players, and that the most serious Quidditch accidents seem to happen to them.’

Hermione appeared worried. ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you, Harry? Don’t risk your life for a Quidditch match.’

‘That’s just Quidditch, Hermione.’ Ron shook his head. ‘Seekers have to be small and fast, Harry, because they’re expected to chase after the ball.’

‘Ron!’ Hermione glared. ‘Harry could get hurt – don’t be so insensitive.’

‘Alright, alright, keep your hair on,’ grumbled Ron.

‘I think it’ll be fine, Hermione,’ Alexander said as he labelled his star chart. ‘A Quidditch match is hardly going to be the end of Harry. Seems a bit embarrassing if the darkest wizard of all time wasn’t able to kill him but somehow a Quidditch match does.’

‘I don’t know how you’re being so blasé about this,’ sighed Hermione.

‘I’m just saying, just have a little faith in Harry’s abilities. He isn’t the _youngest_ Seeker in a century for no reason.’ Alexander addressed Harry, ‘you’ll be fine.’

Harry smiled genuinely. ‘Thanks, Alex.’

‘Now, Hermione, what am I supposed to label this one?’

∞ ϟ 9¾

The day before the first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during their break, and Hermione had conjured up a bright, blue fire that could be carried around in a jam-jar. Alexander had wanted to learn a tricky spell called the Hot-Air Charm but it was entirely too complicated, particularly the wrist work, for any first-year including him.

‘Nice spell work,’ grinned Alexander.

Hermione appeared bashful. ‘Just something I’ve been practising.’

They were standing with their backs to the jar to become warm. Hermione’s arm was pressed up against his, and Alexander felt heat rise upon his cheeks. He doubted it had anything to do with the piercing chill nipping at his face.

He glanced around and, right then, Snape crossed the yard. Alexander stared. Snape was limping. Alexander knew there was only one thing in the castle that caused Snape to limp like that and it involved three heads.

He nudged the others in warning who immediately moved closer to block the fire from view; Snape was the type of slimy bastard that would not allow it. Alexander was positive Snape could not decipher anything suspicious in his facial expression, unfortunately, something must have caught Snape’s eye. He limped over. He hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

‘What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?’

Harry looked uneasy as he presented _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to Snape. ‘It’s a book, Professor.’

‘Library books are not to be taken outside the school,’ said Snape. ‘Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.’

‘Professor,’ Alexander interjected before he could stop himself, ‘you must be mistaken. There is no such rule.’

‘Do not place yourself in matters that are no concern of yours, Laurent.’ Snape’s eyes flashed warningly.

‘But –’

‘Do not presume to know more than a Hogwarts Professor. That’s another five points from Gryffindor.’

Alexander gritted his teeth as Snape limped away.

Harry huffed angrily. ‘Alex is right. He did just make that rule up.’

‘I wonder what’s wrong with his leg, though? It can’t just be a Potions accident.’

‘Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,’ said Ron in a bitter tone.

‘You and I both.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

The Gryffindor common room was incredibly noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, Alexander, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron’s Charms homework for them.

‘Come on, Hermione – let us copy one paragraph. Just the one,’ pleaded Ron.

Alexander snorted as he proofread his Transfiguration essay. ‘You’ll have an easier time trying to get Snape to use hair conditioner, Ron.’

Harry snickered.

Hermione’s voice was severe. ‘No, I will not. How will you learn otherwise?’

Ron slumped in his seat, while Harry rubbed his temple.

‘Go on, Harry,’ sighed Alexander, placing the parchment down on his lap.

‘What?’ Harry furrowed his brows.

‘I know you’re feeling restless right now. Go and ask Snape for the book back if you’re so worried about it. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?’

‘Give him detention until the end of the year,’ proposed Ron unhelpfully.

‘You’re truly helping here, Ronald.’ Alexander rolled his eyes.

Thankfully, Harry took Alexander’s suggestion and rose from his seat. ‘Yeah, okay, I’m going to ask Snape for the book back.’

‘Better you than me,’ Hermione and Ron said together.

‘What about you, Alex?’

‘No thanks. I don’t want someone taking my seat on the armchair.’

Harry walked out of the common room. Alex smiled proudly as he finished polishing his essay.

‘Hermione, can you check over my essay, please?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, what?’ blurted Ron. ‘You won’t let Harry and me copy but you’ll help Alexander.’

Hermione raised an unimpressed brow. ‘Alexander has already completed his work, Ronald, while you have barely started. Besides, he doesn’t use my work to copy.’

Ron shook his head. ‘What is it with you both calling me Ronald?’ he grumbled.

Alexander saw Harry hurry back into the common room, breathless and troubled. He was missing the book as there was no sight of the object in Harry’s hand.

‘Did you get it?’ Ron asked as Harry joined them.

‘Harry, what’s wrong?’ urged Alexander. ‘You look worried.’

Harry glanced around then leaned in closer and, in a low whisper, told them what he had seen when he saw Snape.

‘You know what this means, right?’ Harry finished breathlessly.

‘It means that my guess was right,’ spoke Alexander. ‘He tried to get past that three-headed dog.’

Ron shivered at the mention of the dog. Hermione bit her lip. It was oddly distracting for Alexander but he forced himself to focus on the subject at hand.

‘Exactly!’ retorted Harry. ‘He tried to get past at Halloween! That’s where he was going when we saw him — he’s after whatever that dog is guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!’

Alexander was alarmed. ‘Hang on a minute, we shouldn’t be making accusations like this. We don’t have any evidence that it was _Snape_ who let the troll in.’

‘His leg was plenty of evidence for me,’ huffed Harry.

Hermione’s eyes were wide. ‘No — he wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.’

‘Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,’ snapped Ron.

Alexander rolled his eyes. ‘She’s trying to think about this logically. What’s his motive? Why would Snape do it?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m with Harry. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape.’

‘Listen, we don’t even know what that dog is guarding. Believe me, I’m not going to rule Snape out, but I have a hard time believing it without solid evidence.’

Alexander hoped he was right when he went to bed that night. His mind was buzzing but his last thought, before he drifted off, was the feel off Hermione’s arm against his in the courtyard.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The next morning dawned bright and cool. As Alexander entered the Great Hall, the delicious aroma of fried sausages and cooked eggs wafted in the air. The cheerful chatter of the students came from all tables; everyone was looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

Harry was twirling a slice of bacon with his fork. It was the only piece of food on his plate. Alexander frowned as he approached the table. _That won’t do at all_ , he thought.

‘You’ve got to eat some breakfast,’ said Ron.

‘I don’t want anything.’

‘Just a bit of toast,’ wheedled Hermione.

‘I’m not hungry.’

Alexander sat across from Harry and without saying anything, he piled four sausages and one egg onto Harry’s plate.

‘Alexander, I just said I don’t want anything,’ protested Harry.

‘Eat,’ demanded Alexander, and poured coffee into his own goblet.

Harry sighed and, albeit reluctantly, took a bite of the sausage.

Alexander nodded, pleased. ‘That’s the spirit.’

‘Harry, you need your strength,’ said Seamus. ‘Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.’

‘Way to make him feel better, Finnigan,’ smirked Alexander.

‘Thanks, Seamus,’ said Harry wryly. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘He’s right though, Harry. You’ll need your energy to play today.’

Alexander was satisfied when Harry had finished his food. Wood cleared his throat and got up, signalling for the Gryffindor team to change into their uniforms.

‘Good luck, Harry,’ came a few shouts from across the Hall.

Harry’s face was pallid. He took a deep breath and got up.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ promised Alexander.

‘Yeah, you’re gonna wipe those Slytherins’ arse today,’ grinned Ron.

‘Ronald!’ snapped Hermione. She then turned towards Harry. ‘You’ll be okay, Harry.’

Harry tried to give what seemed like a pitiful attempt at a smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll see you guys after the match.’

‘We’ll be cheering for you,’ yelled Alexander as Harry walked out of the Hall with the rest of the Gryffindor team.

Cheers and hoots came from the rest. Malfoy and his friends, however, were booing. Malfoy’s robes had finally gone back to the normal green.

‘Yeah, we’ll see who’s laughing afterwards, Malfoy,’ snarked Ron, glaring at the Slytherin table.

By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Alexander’s binoculars hung around his neck. The Gryffindor first-years sat in their seats which were raised high in the air. Despite the height, it was still difficult to see the blur of Quidditch players.

The excitement in the crowds was high. He saw Nia in the opposite stands and, surprisingly, she was wearing a Slytherin scarf while she stood cheering next to Helen. Nia must have been there to support her best friend’s House. Alexander waved at them from the top row and, grinning, they waved back. Ron followed his gaze.

‘Why are you waving at those girls?’ he asked, brows furrowed.

Alexander shrugged. ‘They’re my friends.’

Ron shook his head then concentrated on the pitch.

As a surprise for Harry, the first-year Gryffindors had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours, and Alexander charmed the lion to roar. It was an impressive display of creativity and magic.

‘It looks amazing, Dean,’ Alexander praised.

Dean flushed and smiled sheepishly. ‘Just a quick thing I had to draw up.’

Hermione bit her lip. ‘Look, I think it’s starting. Madam Hooch has the box out.’

Alexander cheered as the team came out on the pitch. Harry appeared like a huddled hedgehog compared to the other players who towered over him. Ron waved his arms in excitement.

‘Woooo! Come on, Harry!’

They brandished the banner and Harry, reading the sign, smiled much more brightly than he did a few seconds ago. The players mounted their brooms, and Alexander felt his heart jump. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose high into the air. They were off. Alexander laughed as Lee Jordan, the twins’ friend, gave out a brilliant commentary.

‘And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —’

‘JORDAN!’

‘Sorry, Professor. And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good friend of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle.’

Groans rang around him.

‘Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he’s going to sc –no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle.’

‘YES!’ shouted Alexander. ‘Go on!’

‘That’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle is taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goalposts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDOR SCORE!’

‘Get in there!’ Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Hermione had a flush on her face. Ron had screamed so much that it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his voice. A brisk voice interrupted them.

‘Budge up there, move along.’

A grin tugged Alexander’s mouth upwards. ‘Hagrid!’

They squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

‘Bin watchin’ from me hut,’ said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, ‘but it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?’

‘Nope,’ said Ron. ‘Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.’

‘Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,’ said Hagrid.

Alexander raised his binoculars and peered skyward. Harry was gliding, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch.

‘He’s still looking. It can’t be easy, looking for a speck of gold that’s smaller than a golf ball.’

‘A what?’ Ron turned to him, confused.

‘Never mind – look, we just scored!’

Hagrid fist-pumped and yelled.

‘Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, ‘Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?’

A low hush overcame the pitch and Alexander watched with bated breath as Harry sped off like a cannonball. Terrance Higgs, the other Seeker, had also seen it and the two hurtled, neck and neck, towards the snitch.

‘How can he see it?’ Alexander shook his head. ‘I can’t even see it through my binoculars.’

He didn’t think anyone had heard him. Everyone watched as Harry was close. All the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch. Alexander was at the edge of his seat. Harry was so close, just a tiny bit more speed…

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below; Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry’s broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

‘ _Connard_!’ roared Alexander. ‘ _Comment osez-vous_!’

Hermione was too furious to scold him for his language. Most of the other Gryffindors agreed with his sentiments.

‘Foul!’

Dean Thomas was yelling, ‘Send him off, ref! Red card!’

‘What are you talking about, Dean?’ said Ron.

‘Red card!’ said Dean. ‘In football, you get shown the red card and you’re out of the game!’

‘But this isn’t football, Dean,’ Ron reminded him.

‘Dean’s right, though,’ muttered Alexander angrily. ‘He should have some sort of punishment.’

‘Dirty – cheating,’ mumbled Ron under his breath.

Madam Hooch spoke heatedly to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor.

Hagrid agreed. ‘They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.’

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides. ‘So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —’

‘Jordan!’ growled Professor McGonagall.

‘I mean, after that open and revolting foul —’

‘Jordan, I’m warning you —’

‘All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession.’

Then, something unusual happened to Harry. His broom lurched. It appeared like the broom wanted to kick him off. Alexander watched confoundedly as Harry struggled to hold on, Harry’s face full of pure panic. The broom was completely out of control; it was zigzagging through the air and making violent swishing motions.

Hermione grabbed his arm. ‘What’s wrong with Harry?’

‘I don’t know. Seems like some kind of malfunction,’ he remarked, troubled.

A particularly violent wobble nearly unseated Harry, causing Alexander to almost rise off his seat. He was very close to grabbing a school broom and flying towards Harry in case he fell.

Lee was still commentating. ‘Slytherin in possession, Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherins score — oh no . . .’

The Slytherins were cheering.

‘Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,’ Hagrid mumbled, then stared through his binoculars. ‘If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom – but he can’t have.’

‘I don’t think he’s doing this on purpose,’ specified Alexander. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s out of his control somehow.’

People were suddenly noticing Harry’s problem all over the stands. Neville whimpered in fear. Harry’s broom started to roll over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry’s broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

‘Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?’ Seamus whispered.

‘Can’t have,’ Hagrid said, his voice shaking. ‘Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.’

‘We need to do something,’ said Alexander to Ron and Hermione, his tone hard. ‘I can’t sit here and watch Harry plummet to the ground.’

Hermione seized Alexander’s binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Ron, grey-faced.

‘I knew it,’ Hermione gasped, ‘Snape — look.’

Hermione was right. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering non-stop under his breath.

‘No way,’ breathed Alexander.

‘He’s doing something — jinxing the broom,’ said Hermione.

‘He’s what? We have to stop him.’ 

‘Leave it to me.’ Hermione disappeared.

Alexander thrummed his feet against the floor. Harry’s broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good. Every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

‘Come on, Hermione,’ Ron muttered desperately.

Alexander clenched his fists hard enough to draw nails. He glared over to where Snape sat. He wished he could throw a spell across the pitch; sitting like this made him feel useless.

Then he saw it. Snape’s cloak had caught on fire. Bright, blue flames flickering and becoming larger. Alexander gave a small burst of relieved laughter. _Hermione, you brilliant girl_ , he thought. It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. Hermione’s spell seemed to have worked because Harry’s broom was now stable and he was able to clamber back on.

‘Thank God for that,’ Alexander gave a lightened sigh. ‘Neville, you can look!’ Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid’s jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when he clapped his hand to his mouth.

‘What’s happening now,’ groaned Ron.

‘I – I don’t know,’ said Alexander. ‘It looks like he’s about to be sick.’

Harry hit the field on all fours – coughed – and peered into his hand in wonder. He was gesturing to the crowd, waving his hand above his head.

‘What’s he saying, I can’t make it out,’ said Ron, squinting.

Alexander's eyes widened through his binoculars. ‘Ron! We’ve won! Harry caught the snitch!’

Madam Hooch blew the whistle and the game ended in complete confusion. Flint was furious, however. Alexander could see him spitting words at Madam Hooch, but the latter looked unimpressed. Lee Jordan was happily shouting the results: Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Ron was cheering and Hermione had made her way back to the stands. Alexander welcomed her back with a wide beam.

Later, when they sat in Hagrid’s hut, Alexander sipped at his tea.

‘It was Snape,’ Ron was explaining, ‘Hermione, Alexander, and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hagrid. ‘Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?’

‘It’s hard to argue with something that happened right in front of your very eyes,’ Alexander remarked.

‘An’ I’m telling yeh, Professor Snape wouldn’t do it.’

Harry decided to tell the truth. Alexander glanced at him with surprise.

‘I found out something about him,’ Harry told Hagrid. ‘He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.’

Hagrid dropped the teapot. ‘How do you know about Fluffy?’

‘ _Fluffy_!’

‘Sorry, Fluffy?’ blurted Alexander, mouth open. ‘Of all the names in the world.’

‘Yea’, that’s his name,’ said Hagrid rather defensively. ‘He’s mine, bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —’

‘The?’ Alexander encouraged.

‘Yes?’ said Harry eagerly.

‘Now, don’t ask me anymore,’ said Hagrid in a gruff voice.

Alexander groaned in disappointment. ‘Hagrid,’ he moaned.

‘You won’t get anythin’ outta me. That’s top-secret, that is.’

‘But Snape’s trying to steal it.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hagrid again. ‘Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.’

‘And I thought teachers weren’t meant to curse students’ broomsticks, but here we are,’ Alexander scoffed.

Hagrid shook his head. ‘No, yer all getting this mixed up.’

‘So why did he just try and kill Harry?’ cried Hermione and Alexander nodded in agreement. ‘I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!’

‘I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!’ said Hagrid hotly. ‘I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four of yeh — yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel —’

Alexander snapped his head up. _Now they were talking_. Hagrid unintentionally presented them with another clue.

‘Aha!’ said Harry, ‘So there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?’

Hagrid looked furious with himself. ‘I’m not saying anymore, so don’ yer even try.’

Alexander deflated. It was good while it lasted.


	11. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up. There's a brief mention of underage drinking in this chapter. Realistically, people in the UK start drinking at a very young age. If Harry Potter weren't written as a children's novel, so much more shit would be happening in Hogwarts, just like in real boarding schools.

Alexander was the type of person who, when the month of December came around, exuded the Christmas spirit. He just couldn’t help the broad smile on his face as he walked through the castle, much to some of the students’ annoyance.

To say the Christmas period was special to him was an understatement. It was the time where Grandfather was home the most often. Eliot always baked several dozen cookies, and Alexander was given the soft, gooey ones that melted in his mouth after the first bite. He, Grandfather, and Eliot would visit Christmas markets and during the evening watch Christmas films until he fell asleep. His stocking would be hung from the fireplace, and he and Eliot would decorate the tree which touched the ceiling. When he was younger, he recalled Eliot lifting him to reach the top of the tree so he could place an ornamental gingerbread house.

This year, his holiday would be spent at Hogwarts. He would have liked to have spent it with his two loved ones, but Alexander supposed the castle wouldn’t be too bad. Not according to Hagrid who raved about the food and special desserts. He could see the snow-capped trees of the Forbidden Forest from his dormitory window. Neville worried that Alexander would lean too far forwards and fall to his death.

Alexander could be heard singing songs in the Great Hall or when he walked around the castle. Ron was curious about the muggle songs he belted out. Not many people joined in with him – some threw him withering stares – but Helen appreciated his seasonal joy.

‘ _The boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay, and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day_ ,’ he sang one afternoon.

‘Oh my God, I love that song!’ Helen squealed as she heard Alexander on his way to the library.

Alexander grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Er, hello, Helen. It’s nice to see you again.’ For some unexplained reason, he suddenly felt nervous and self-conscious.

‘It’s nice to see you too, Alexander.’

‘H-How do you know that song? I thought you were a Pureblood?’

Helen nodded. ‘I am but Nia introduced me to muggle songs.’

‘Oh, right…’ he trailed off. Alexander racked his brain, trying to think of something to say, but it was as if his mind had gone blank. Luckily, Helen saved him the effort.

‘Off to the library, are we?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, feeling foolish, ‘just wanted to get some reading done before the Winter break.’

That wasn’t technically a lie. He had just been on his way to the library to meet Harry, Ron, and Hermione for research. Only, the reading was not for school.

‘I sometimes wonder how you’re not a Ravenclaw,’ she admitted with a teasing smile.

His skin tingled when they locked eyes. He wetted his lips and chuckled softly.

‘Well – I think the Sorting Hat was somehow involved in that.’

Before Helen could say anything, they were approached by a heavily-muscled fourth-year Slytherin. Alexander bit back his annoyance at the disruption. The fourth-year ran his eyes over Alexander dismissively.

‘Helen! Sweetheart, come. I have something to show you.’

‘What is it, Johnny?’ she giggled and the Slytherin boy’s half-crooked smirk promised unknown things.

‘Nuh-uh, you have to come and find out, Sweetheart. But I can tell you that it involves mistletoe.’ He pulled her along and Helen didn’t resist. She waved goodbye to Alexander and the two disappeared, the chimes of their voices trailing off.

Alexander didn’t feel like singing anymore. He sat down forcefully on the library chair. Harry and Ron were startled at his sudden arrival.

‘You could’ve warned us, you know,’ grumbled Ron.

Alexander shrugged. ‘Sure, whatever.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ demanded Hermione. ‘You’re usually singing.’

‘Ran into Snape, did we?’ teased Ron.

Alexander took out his parchment and quills. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Where are we with Flamel?’

Hermione huffed in annoyance at him ignoring her question. Fortunately, she seemed to let it go. ‘Nothing so far. But we’ll get there in the end.’

‘We may need to try another section, perhaps,’ suggested Alexander, his focus shifting to the research at hand.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Not many students stayed over the winter break, but Harry, Ron, and Alexander signed up to stay behind. For Alexander, though, it was less of a choice. His Grandfather was out of the country and Eliot was spending the holidays with his parents. Ron informed them that his parents were going to Romania with his sister to visit his older brother, Charlie, and so the whole Weasley family stayed behind. Harry seemed thrilled to be spending the holiday at Hogwarts which baffled Alexander. What about his family? Surely, his aunt and uncle would miss him?

Hermione, much to Alexander’s disappointment, was going home to her parents. He would miss her, but he supposed she likewise missed her parents. She was coming back in January so he would see her then.

There was still plenty to do at Hogwarts. Fred and George would smuggle Fire Whiskey to the common room underneath the teachers’ and Prefects’ eyes. Alexander, in an impressed tone, asked how they managed to get their hands on it, and the twins, with sneaky grins, told him that they bribed a seventh-year when they went to Hogsmeade. Alexander was curious to know what Fire Whiskey tasted like. Grandfather sometimes allowed him a glass of brandy or wine on special occasions when he hosted parties, but never whiskey. He managed to refrain from having a spluttering, coughing fit after his first sip despite the burn in the back of his throat. The twins burst out laughing at his scrunched-up face. Yet, he found that he quite enjoyed whiskey better than brandy or wine.

Occasionally, when the common room was free, he’d have a book in his lap while he sat by the fire and spent time reading. Other times he would sketch in the book Dean gave him for his birthday. He was no Picasso, but his drawings were decent enough.

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow, and the lake frozen solid. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail, had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again. As a result, Alexander decreased the number of letters he sent to Eliot because he didn’t want Apollo to battle those conditions.

The Weasley twins dared Alexander to bewitch snowballs and throw them at Professor Quirrell’s turban, and Alexander, never one to back out of a challenge, accepted.

‘Thirty points if you can do it without him noticing,’ said Fred. 

With a grin, Alexander waved his wand from behind a pillar and three magnificent snowballs rose into the air. With another wave, the snowball hurled across the courtyard and hit Quirrell’s turban, right in the back. Quirrell spun around swiftly, his face stormy. Alexander and the twins ran away in peals of laughter before the Professor could identify who the culprit was.

‘Brilliant, Alexi-boy!’ said Fred. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Quirrell that angry before.’

‘Reckon he’s hiding treasure underneath the turban?’ laughed George.

‘Or he’s scared of being bald,’ joked Alexander.

While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Professor Snape’s classes down in the dungeons, caused the first-years breaths to rise in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons. Alexander was still practising the Hot-Air Charm and had made some progress. He couldn’t fully make himself warm for a long period of time but his spell lasted for one hour at the most.

Malfoy was still taunting Harry even after Slytherin’s defeat. Potions were the perfect opportunity for the ferret to provoke Harry as Snape for some apparent reason had turned blind.

‘I do feel so sorry,’ said Malfoy, one Potions class, ‘for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.’ He was looking over at Harry as he spoke.

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out the powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them.

‘And I for one,’ sighed Alexander, ‘feel sorry for any parents who have to cope with ugly blond ferrets.’

Alexander heard Blaise cover his mirth under a perfectly concealed cough.

‘At least I have parents, Laurent,’ snapped Malfoy, ‘Where’s yours? Gave you up as soon as you were born.’

Blaise sharply inhaled and, catching Alexander’s eye, shook his head.

Alexander swallowed heavily and did his best to reign in his temper. Malfoy had hit a sore spot though Alexander would never let him know that. Disappointed that he hadn’t received a suitable enough reaction from Alexander, Malfoy went back to goading the rest of the Gryffindors.

Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he’d realised that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to jeering.

Alexander left the dungeons at the end of Potions. A large firtree blocked the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told him that Hagrid was behind it.

‘Hi, Hagrid, want any help?’ Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

‘Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.’

Malfoy’s cold drawl came from behind them. ‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’

Alexander assessed him indifferently. ‘No, I don’t think I will.’

Malfoy glared. ‘You should be careful who you’re addressing, Laurent. Your tongue is going to get you into trouble one of these days. Mark my words.’

Alexander was quick to rebuttal. ‘Was that your attempt at a threat? Please, I’ve seen three-year-olds do a better job than that.’

Ron snickered next to him while Hermione suppressed a smile.

Malfoy gritted his teeth at being outwitted by Alexander and unable to think of a comeback, he turned his insults onto Ron.

‘I wouldn’t be laughing, Weasley. What are you, trying to earn some extra money? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts; I suppose that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.’

Alexander grabbed Ron’s arm promptly before he could dive at Malfoy. It was a good thing he did because at that second Snape came around the corner. _Of course_ , thought Alexander. _That greasy bastard just had to come now_.

‘WEASLEY!’

Alexander let go of the robes. Malfoy smirked in delight.

‘He was provoked, Professor Snape,’ said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. ‘Malfoy was insultin’ Ron’s family.’

‘Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,’ said Snape silkily. ‘Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.’

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere.

‘I’ll get him,’ said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, ‘one of these days, I’ll get him —’

‘Video it and send it to me if you do,’ stated Alexander, and Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm. ‘What?’ he shrugged.

Ron was too angry to ask about the muggle term.

‘I hate them both,’ said Harry, his voice dripping with disdain, ‘Malfoy and Snape.’

‘Ah, yes, the dreadful duo. One’s got too much grease, the other too much hair gel.’

‘Come on, cheer up, yer lot – it’s nearly Christmas,’ said Hagrid. ‘Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.’

The four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations. Alexander was lost for words. It wasn’t finished yet but it still looked magnificent.

‘Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?’

Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with several candles.

‘How many days you got left until yer holidays?’ Hagrid asked.

‘Just one,’ said Hermione. ‘And that reminds me — Alexander, Harry, Ron, we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.’

Alexander straightened up.

‘Oh yeah, you’re right,’ said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

‘The library?’ said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. ‘Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?’

‘Sure, if you want to look at it that way.’ Just like the shining baubles, Alexander's eyes lit up in amusement.

Hagrid beamed. ‘Well, it’s good of yeh to take your lessons seriously.’

‘Oh, we’re not working,’ Harry told him brightly. ‘Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel, we’ve been trying to find out who he is.’

Alexander grinned at Hagrid’s shocked expression.

‘You what? Listen here — I’ve told yeh — drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guardin’.’

Alexander begged to differ. Not after their encounter with the dog and Snape’s suspicious actions.

‘We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that’s all,’ argued Hermione.

‘Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?’ Harry added. ‘We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can’t find him anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I’ve read his name somewhere.’

‘Please do,’ said Alexander with Ron nodding in agreement, ‘I’m sick of having Madam Pince breathing down my neck every time I step foot in the library.’

‘I’m sayin’ nothin’,’ said Hagrid flatly.

‘More work for us, then,’ sighed Alexander, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

Truth be told, the four had been searching for the identity of Nicholas Flamel ever since Hagrid let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what was underneath that trapdoor? Particularly if Snape was the culprit trying to steal it. Alexander still had his doubts about Snape but he couldn’t voice them because he had no solid evidence. The problem they faced, however, was knowing where to begin. Was Flamel a leader, a teacher, or a philosopher? When was he born and where? All they had was a name to search with.

At times like these, Alexander longed for the technology of the muggle world. A computer database would have found Flamel at the click of a button. But because Hogwarts was stuck in the medieval period, they had to do it manually, which became quite tedious after a while, lugging hefty books around. Then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books, shelves, and narrow rows. Flamel wasn’t in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ , or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_ ; he was missing, too, from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_ , and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Alexander read her list, picked a subject, and grabbed a couple of books off the shelf. There was hardly anyone in the library now apart from a few older students studying for their exams. This may not have been a good thing because it meant that Madam Pince, the librarian, was like an eagle searching for her prey, her eyes constantly on the group.

From the corner of his eye, Alexander spotted Harry wandering over to the Restricted Section, where you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in there. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Unfortunately for Harry, the austere librarian discovered him before he could get a chance, and Harry had to leave the library.

‘Ah, that’s rotten luck,’ winced Ron.

Alexander groaned in frustration as he slammed another book shut. A girl from the table next to theirs shushed him with a glare. He threw a contrite glance in her direction.

‘We’re never going to find him,’ he complained.

‘Of course, we will,’ said Hermione in a clipped tone, barely glancing up from the book she was scouring. ‘It’s here somewhere, and we’ll find it.’

Alexander stared at Hermione. Her brows were furrowed in determination and there was a certain glint in her eye. Taking a deep breath, he picked up another book from the pile and started flipping through the pages.

Unfortunately, they didn’t discover anything. They considered that it was better to try again when the library was busy again and Pince wasn’t watching their every move. They met Harry outside the library who was staring at them with a hopeful expression. Alexander sadly shook his head and Harry’s shoulders slumped. They decided to head to lunch.

‘You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?’ prodded Hermione. ‘And send me an owl if you find anything.’

‘Uh, I can’t make any promises but I’ll try my best,’ admitted Alexander.

‘And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,’ Ron suggested to Hermione.

‘That won’t work, Ronald,’ Alexander rolled his eyes, lips tugged up in a smirk.

‘Why not?’ demanded Ron, ‘it’ll be safe to ask them.’ Ron stared at them as if they were missing something important.

‘Very safe, as they’re both dentists,’ said Hermione, causing Alexander and Harry to snicker.

‘They’re what?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ sighed Alexander, picking up his goblet of pumpkin juice. ‘The point is that they won’t know.’

‘It was worth a try,’ grumbled Ron in a low tone. ‘I suppose that means more work for us.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

The next evening, Alexander, along with Harry and Ron, saw Hermione off in front of the door they entered Hogwarts by. Hermione was bundled up in a thick coat and a woolly hat and scarf. Professor McGonagall was calling the last set of people for the train.

‘This is goodbye, I guess,’ said Hermione, then in a severe tone that was familiar to the three boys warned, ‘remember to not leave your homework after the break. Get plenty of work done.’

‘Hermione, please,’ moaned Ron, exasperated. ‘It is only the first day. Let us breathe.’

She bit her lip. ‘Well, alright, then, but make sure to keep searching for Flamel.’

‘We will,’ nodded Alexander with a fond smile. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to send an owl. These two certainly won’t.’

‘Oi!’ sounded Harry and Ron.

A thought occurred to Alexander. ‘Will you be alone on the train?’

She appeared surprised at his question then shook her head. ‘Huh, oh, no. No, of course not. Neville will be there with me and there are Lavender and Parvati as well.’

Alexander relaxed, his worry now dissipated. Still, Hermione wasn’t exactly close friends with Lavender and Parvati.

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay – I have to go now. I’ll see you three after the holidays. Happy Christmas.’

She seemed to be hesitating when taking a swift glimpse at Alexander, and for one wild moment, he thought she was going to hug him again, similar to the one before the troll incident. But she smiled and waved goodbye, her large front teeth glinting in the luminous night sky. It was then that Alexander realised how nice Hermione’s bushy hair looked with snow sprinkled like her very own snow-crown.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. Alexander, in his spare time, flicked through some books but his heart was not truly in it. He finished some of his homework except for Astronomy seeing as Hermione wasn’t there to help him. The boys had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was emptier than usual, so they were able to get the best armchairs by the fire. Alexander could sing without anyone moaning at him in the castle, though Harry and Ron did mutter sometimes. Hagrid beamed when he heard Alexander and often joined in with a gruff, off-tune voice. Hagrid made up some song lyrics as he went along and Alexander didn’t have the heart to tell him it was wrong.

‘Ahhh,’ sighed Ron as he slumped into the armchair with a content expression. ‘No wonder the sixth and seventh years hog these chairs. I could fall asleep on them.’

Alexander agreed and had in fact encountered a few couples that accidentally fell asleep on the armchairs. Their arms and legs had been tangled together causing Alexander to flush in embarrassment. He didn’t realise people could be wrapped around each other that close.

The boys sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork — bread, English muffins, marshmallows. Ron taught Harry how to play Wizard’s Chess while Alexander read the second-year Charms textbook. Harry was a decent player. Ron, unsurprisingly, won every match though Alexander did come very close to beating him once.

When Alexander awoke early on Christmas Day, to his astonishment, Ron was awake. Ron was always the last out of the boys in the dormitory to get up, unless he was bribed with food. A large pile of presents lay at the foot of Alexander’s bed.

‘Happy Christmas,’ said Ron as Harry also woke up and scrambled out of bed to pull on his bathrobe.

‘Happy Christmas, guys,’ smiled Alexander and picked up a parcel.

‘You too,’ said Harry.

For some reason, Harry gazed at his own pile in wonderment as if he’d never seen presents before in his life.

‘Will you look at this? I’ve got some presents!’

‘What did you expect, turnips?’ said Ron, turning to his own pile.

Alexander chuckled in agreement. Of course, Harry was going to receive presents. Who didn’t on Christmas?

The next few minutes were spent with the boys ripping open their own parcels in a haste to get to the gifts. Grandfather Laurent sent him a brand-new feather quill which came from a real phoenix as he mentioned in his note. It must have cost a fair amount because quills like that weren’t cheap to obtain. He would send presents but not talk to Alexander directly. _Not unless it was a special occasion_ thought Alexander with a slight hint of resentment. He wondered if the expensive gifts were Grandfather’s way of making up for his absence.

His attention was caught by Ron’s fascination with one of Harry’s present. Harry held a tiny parcel that turned out to be a fifty-pence coin. _What in the world_? _50p_?

‘That’s friendly,’ said Harry.

To Alexander’s confusion, Harry appeared indifferent. Perhaps Harry’s aunt and uncle weren’t very rich? It was hard to make sense of though.

‘Harry,’ he began slowly, ‘you know fifty pence isn’t a lot of money.’

Harry shrugged. ‘It’s better than usual, believe me.’

This didn't do anything to clear up Alexander’s puzzlement. Come to think of it, Harry barely mentioned his life in the muggle world. Ron very obviously chatted constantly about growing up the youngest in a family of wizards and witches, and on some occasions, even Alexander would fondly mention Eliot and Grandfather. Harry, however, for some unknown reason, appeared awkward when the subject of his relatives popped up. Before Alexander could voice his bewilderment, Ron spoke up.

‘Weird!’ he said in a tone of fascination. ‘What a shape! This is money?’

‘You can keep it,’ said Harry, laughing. ‘Hagrid and my aunt and uncle — so who sent these?’ A lumpy parcel was left on Harry’s rather short pile.

‘I think I know who that one’s from,’ said Ron, turning a bit pink. ‘My mum. I told her you didn’t expect any presents and — oh, no – she’s made you a Weasley jumper.’

Harry held his emerald green jumper and a large box in his hand, his face one of pure child-like wonder.

‘Alexander, you must have one too – yeah, look, that one,’ Ron groaned and pointed to one hidden in Alexander’s pile. ‘Every year she makes us a jumper.’ Ron unwrapped his. ‘And mine’s always maroon.’

Ron’s mum had sent Alexander a thick, hand-knitted jumper in a colour that could accurately be described as Egyptian blue. A letter ‘A’ was sewn onto the front. Alexander felt his heart swell at Mrs Weasley’s gift but his stomach also churned with the guilt of not having sent her a present. He vowed to send Apollo with a thank-you note along with a present later. Eliot always taught him to be grateful for other people’s kindness after all.

‘That’s really nice of her,’ said Harry, taking a bite of the fudge.

‘Thank you, I really appreciate your mum’s effort,’ said Alexander, smiling softly.

Ron’s cheeks blazed even redder. ‘I’ll let her know,’ he mumbled quietly.

Alexander placed the jumper over his head. It felt warm on his body like he was taking a bath.

A fluid and silvery grey caught Alexander and Ron’s attention. It lay on the floor in gleaming folds beneath Harry’s feet.

Ron gasped. ‘I’ve heard of those,’ he said in a hushed voice, dropping a box of Every Flavour Beans. ‘If that’s what I think it is — they’re really rare and really valuable.’

‘I swear that looks like a blanket,’ said Alexander, gazing intriguingly at the silvery thing.

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It seemed like water had been woven into the material and made ripples every time it moved.

‘No,’ Ron shook his head, rather eager, ‘that’s no blanket. It’s an Invisibility Cloak!’

Ron had such an expression of awe on his face that Alexander suppressed a grin.

‘I’m sure it is — try it on.’

Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell. ‘It is! Look down!’

A strange thing occurred. Harry’s whole body disappeared and only his head was suspended in mid-air.

‘ _Merde_ ,’ whispered Alexander, eyes wide, ‘they meant that literally. Harry – hurry, go look in the mirror.’

Harry dashed to the mirror and his jaw-dropped. ‘My body’s gone!’ Harry pulled the Cloak over his head and he vanished completely.

‘Who do you reckon sent it?’ asked Alexander, his eyes lingering on the spot where Harry was visible a second ago.

‘I dunno,’ came Ron’s voice, then all of a sudden, ‘but, look, there’s a note that fell out.’

Ron was right. The place where the wrapping lay in tatters on the floor, rested a small paper.

Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. It was somewhat unnerving to see a whole body appear out of thin air. Harry’s eyes ran across the note.

‘Does it say who it’s from?’ inquired Alexander.

‘No, there’s no signature,’ said Harry in a quiet tone.

Alexander fell silent, not sure of what to say. Harry had a peculiar expression.

Ron was admiring the Cloak. ‘I’d give anything for one of these,’ he said. ‘Anything. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry.

Ron caught Alexander’s eye who shrugged in response. He reckoned it was something to do with the note that Harry was holding.

The dormitory door flung open and Fred and George bounded in, mischievous smirks written on their faces. Their presence broke the somewhat subdued atmosphere of their dormitory. Alexander couldn’t help but smile at their contagious joy.

George widened his arms out in a welcome gesture. ‘Happy Christmas!’

Fred noticed the jumpers on Harry and Alexander. ‘Hey, look — Harry and Alexi-boy have got a Weasley jumper, too!’

Fred and George were wearing light blue jumpers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

‘Theirs is better than ours, though,’ said Fred, holding up Harry’s sweater. ‘She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.

‘Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?’ George demanded. ‘Alexander is wearing his. Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.’

‘He’s not wrong,’ agreed Alexander.

‘You see Ron, Alexander’s got the spirit.’

‘I hate maroon,’ Ron moaned weakly as he pulled it over his head.

‘You haven’t got a letter on yours,’ George observed Harry’s jumper. ‘I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid — we know we’re called Gred and Forge.’

‘What’s all this noise?’ Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He spotted Alexander and his face turned apologetic. ‘I apologise for the ruckus my brothers are making, Mr Laurent. Please, do not think bad of us.’

Fred and George caught Alexander trying to hide his grin and seized his hand in a continuous handshake. ‘How do you do, Mr Laurent?’

‘Very pleased to meet you, Mr Laurent.’

‘Can we shine yours and your Grandfather’s shoes, Mr Laurent?’

Alexander burst out laughing at the twins’ antics. ‘Mr Gred and Mr Forge – you’re hired. Work begins tomorrow.’

Percy scowled at the twins. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm, which Fred seized.

‘P for Prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, even Harry and Alexi-boy have one.’

‘I — don’t — want —’ said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

‘And you’re not sitting with the Prefects today, either,’ said George. ‘Christmas is a time for family.’

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his jumper.

The Christmas dinner was fabulous. A hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce. Every few feet along the table lay stacks of wizard crackers. These blasted like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke. All of the people that chose to remain behind sat on one table.

Alexander waved at a seventh-year Ravenclaw boy who sat alone and flicked through what appeared to be a textbook. He was starting to recognise most of the people in the castle. The boy nodded in acknowledgement and declined Alexander’s offer to sit with him.

Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet. Alexander shrugged internally. He’d seen weirder things so far.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Hagrid became redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

Alexander wolf-whistled with the twins.

‘Wooo, Minne,’ cheered Fred, and earned himself a stiff glance from the Professor. Luckily, the Professor was tipsy enough not to give the three boys detention. Alexander swore he saw a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

They arrived in the common room, cold, wet, and gasping for breath after an intense snowball fight. Alexander’s ability to dodge and having an accurate aim helped in his favour. Harry and Ron refused to let Alexander be on the side of the twins because they claimed it wouldn’t be fair. Ron, unfortunately, was targeted the most. The roaring and the heat of the fire was a soothing balm to the group afterwards. Following a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, Alexander went to bed that night, joyful and warm.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Harry, Alexander discovered, went on his own midnight adventure the previous night. Harry recounted what he had seen over the breakfast table.

‘You could have woken us up,’ said Ron, crossly.

Alexander snorted. ‘No one can wake you up, Ron. It’s like waking the dead.’

Ron scoffed with a tiny smirk. ‘You’re one to talk.’

‘You can come tonight, I’m going back, I want to show you both the mirror,’ Harry proposed.

‘I’d like to see your mum and dad,’ Ron said eagerly.

‘And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you’ll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone.’

‘You can see them any old time,’ said Ron. ‘Just come round my house this summer, both of you. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people.’

Alexander chewed on his lip thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know, guys. This seems too risky.’

‘It’ll be fine. What’s the risk?’ dismissed Ron with a wave of his hand.

Alexander’s eyebrow twitched. ‘Filch, for one,’ he rebutted. ‘And we don’t know if Harry’s Cloak is effective enough to hide all three of us.’

‘It is,’ claimed Harry and Alexander’s brows furrowed. ‘I was right in front of Snape and he didn’t see a thing.’

Ron lit up again. ‘See, Alex. Harry’s Cloak will be good enough. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren’t you eating anything?’

Harry’s plate was empty; he hadn’t eaten anything and his eyes seemed hollow. Something about Harry’s demeanour unnerved Alexander, causing a sick, heavy feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach.

‘Are you sure you’re alright, Harry?’ prodded Alexander.

Ron nodded. ‘You do look odd, mate.’

Harry mumbled that he was fine, yet Alexander didn’t believe him. Swallowing his feelings of unease, Alexander kept quiet.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Alexander was awoken slightly after midnight by Harry who held the Cloak in his hand. Ron stood behind Harry, rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep. The three of them hid under the Cloak and followed Harry to find the mirror. Their steps were clumsy and slow in case someone saw them.

They tried retracing Harry’s route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

‘I’m freezing,’ moaned Ron. ‘Let’s forget it and go back.’

‘I’m with Ron. You don’t even know where you’re going,’ snapped Alexander, bleary-eyed from sleep. Astronomy lessons were already a pain to attend at night but they were compulsory. Alexander was close to ripping the Cloak off his head and storming back to his warm, soft covers. He hardly cared if Filch caught him.

‘No!’ Harry hissed. ‘I know it’s here somewhere.’

Sighing in irritation, Alexander controlled his urge. They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry exclaimed, ‘it’s here — just here — yes!’

‘Finally,’ said a relieved Alexander, yawning.

They pushed the door open. Alexander had to blink to clear his focus. The room appeared like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls. The main feature of the classroom was propped against the wall facing the three boys; it seemed out of place. It was a fancy mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. Alexander had seen smaller, hand-held versions of fancy mirrors when he and Grandfather visited an associate's house, but never one this large. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

Harry dropped the Cloak, causing the three boys to become visible, and ran to the mirror. Harry’s gloomy expression dissipated and, in its place, lay a wide beam of happiness.

‘See?’ Harry whispered. ‘There’s my parents.’

Alexander shivered. There was something eerie about the mirror. The only person in the reflection was Harry who gazed hungrily at it as if he could see something Alexander and Ron couldn’t.

Ron voiced his thought. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Look! Look at them all – there are loads of them.’

Alexander shook his head. He knew this was a waste of his sleep. ‘There’s no one there,’ he spoke sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Ron nodded in confusion, ‘I can only see you.’

Harry huffed angrily. ‘Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.’ Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror.

This time, Ron stared transfixed at his reflection. ‘Look at me!’ he chorused.

‘Can you see all your family standing around you?’ Harry asked in a hopeful tone.

‘No — I’m alone, but I’m different. I look older and I’m Head Boy!’

Alexander blinked. What was happening?

‘What?’

‘I am — I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to, and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup; I’m Quidditch captain, too!’ Ron tore his eyes away to look excitedly at Harry and Alexander. ‘Do you think this mirror shows the future?’

‘No,’ said Alexander immediately, causing Ron to deflate in disappointment.

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ argued Ron.

‘How can it?’ Harry shrugged dismally. ‘All my family are dead.’

Alexander stared at the inscription engraved at the top. ‘Erised,’ he muttered. ‘Erised backwards is desire.’

‘Desire?’ voiced Harry.

‘Yes, see the words,’ Alexander pointed, ‘they’re an anagram. The words are written backwards – so they mean – hold on, give me a second.’ He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. ‘The words are ‘ _I show not your face but your heart's desire_ ’.’

‘You can read backwards,’ Ron goggled his eyes at Alexander.

‘Uh, not really. Just took me a second to figure it out.’

Ron beckoned Alexander. ‘Go on, Alex. You have a look.’

More curious than he should have been, Alexander approached the mirror, anticipating what his heart’s desire would be. He bit his lip to stop himself from yelping out loud. Behind him, reflected in the mirror, stood Grandfather and Eliot. But they weren’t alone because behind them stood two young people that Alexander had never met before in his life. They couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

Alexander felt his breath hitch. Grandfather smiled proudly at him while laying a hand on his shoulder while Eliot beamed brightly, throwing his thumbs up. The woman next to Grandfather was beautiful; she had dark brown hair that fell in ringlets onto her shoulder and a cheeky grin that she kept flashing to him and the young man next to her. The man was more taciturn. But there was a fondness in his eyes as he gazed at the young woman. The most shocking thing though was the dark hair of the man and the aristocratic features that appeared like the same ones Alexander saw every time looked in the mirror. A lump rose in his throat and an ache echoed inside his chest.

He stared back and the group disappeared; there was no Grandfather, no Eliot, and certainly not the two young people. The blood in his veins turned icy and he stepped away from the mirror.

‘What did you see, Alex?’ asked Ron.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

His heart’s desire was just that: an idyllic fantasy that vanished as soon as he turned around, like a feather blown by the wind.

Harry and Ron, however, wanted another look in the mirror.

‘Let me have another look.’ 

‘You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time.’

‘You’re only holding the Quidditch Cup, what’s interesting about that? I want to see my parents.’

‘Don’t push me —’ 

‘Shush!’

Alexander’s loud hiss broke their discussion.

‘Quick!’

They huddled together as Ron threw the Cloak back over them as the glowing eyes of Mrs Norris came round the door. The three stood quite still. After what seemed an age, the cat turned and left.

‘We need to go,’ demanded Alexander. ‘This isn’t safe — she might have gone for Filch. Come on.’

Alexander released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as they came out of the room. That mirror was dangerous.

He was right because the next day, Harry was fixated over it.

‘Want to play chess, Harry?’ said Ron.

‘No.’

‘Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?’ suggested Alexander.

‘No . . . you two go . . .’

Harry sounded like a broken record. ‘No’ seemed to be the only word Ron and Alexander could get out of him. The two glanced over Harry’s shoulder rather worriedly.

‘You’re thinking about that mirror, aren’t you?’ Alexander remarked, his tone hard.

Ron sighed. ‘I know what you’re thinking about, Harry. Don’t go back tonight.’

‘Why not?’

‘I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it and anyway, you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?’

‘You sound like Hermione.’

‘This isn’t a joke,’ Alexander scowled. ‘Hermione would agree with us if she were here.’

‘We’re serious, Harry, don’t go.’

But Harry had stopped listening to them judging by the glazed over expression on his face. Alexander took Ron aside and informed him that if Harry continues going, he’d get the Headmaster involved. Ron, with heavy resignation, acquiesced.

Alexander needn’t have worried because the next day Harry was himself again. Harry asked him and Ron whether they could visit Hagrid. With a wide grin, Alexander accepted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I was about to write Alexander singing Mariah Carey's bop 'All I Want for Christmas is You' but when I googled it, the song wasn't released until 1994 while the first book's setting is set during 1991.


	12. Flamel's Masterpiece

Finding a magical mirror that may have shown your parents was no easy thing to forget. The image haunted Alexander greater than he cared to admit. He was torn between feeling disappointed that he hadn’t looked once more in the mirror or relieved that he had stepped away. He wondered how the mirror knew that it was his parents. People may have known his mother but no one had a clue who his father was. Alexander longed to speak to Grandfather about it but, once again, his pride prevailed and the silent communication continued between the two.

Harry, it appeared, felt the same way and Alexander could not blame him. Harry told them about his recurring nightmares.

‘It’s sort of hard to explain,’ Harry divulged in a troubled tone. ‘There’s this green light and then my parents are gone.’

‘What, just like that?’ Ron stared.

‘Yeah. They disappear in a flash. It happens every night.’

Alexander was silent, quietly mulling over Harry’s words before asking, ‘is there anything else you can remember? Something else in the dream?’

Lines formed on Harry’s forehead. ‘Actually, yeah. There’s also this high voice – laughing, I suppose. Just before they’re gone.’

Ron shivered. ‘That’s bloody creepy. I wouldn’t fancy seeing that every night.’

Alexander shot a side-glance at Ron. Sometimes, he could be very thoughtless. Alexander had a slight hunch that the laughter in Harry’s dream originated from the same psychopath that murdered Harry’s parents. Otherwise, who else would it be? He chose not to relay this information to Harry as to not cause him even more trouble than he already had. Yet, it was disturbing to think that Harry was reliving his parents’ deaths every night.

‘I think,’ began Alexander while Harry and Ron gazed curiously at him, ‘that the mirror triggered something to do with your parents. Some memory, perhaps.’

‘You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad,’ said Ron, and Harry shrugged.

‘Yes, but this is different,’ remarked Alexander, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest.

‘Different how?’

‘Harry’s not obsessing over the _mirror_ – he’s fixated over a nightmare caused by it.’

‘Whatever,’ Ron shrugged with a wave of his hand, ‘either way, it’s not a good thing.’

‘Is it every night?’

‘Yeah, ever since,’ Harry replied.

‘Go to Madam Pomfrey,’ Alexander suggested and immediately Harry shook his head. ‘She’ll help you to sleep better. It’ll help get rid of your nightmare at least.’

‘No, I’m fine. I don’t need help,’ Harry refuted.

Alexander fought the urge to roll his eyes. Harry Potter was so stubborn when it came to looking after himself.

‘Fine – then ask Snape for a Dreamless Potion.’

Harry looked as if he’d rather go toe-to-toe with Fluffy than ask Snape for anything.

Ron snorted through a mouthful of toast. ‘I’d rather take the nightmares myself.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

When Hermione arrived back at Hogwarts at the beginning of January, Alexander was split between feeling glad that one of his best friends was back yet also guilty that he hadn’t discovered anything to do with Flamel. She’d been counting on them but the mirror and the holidays caused Alexander to forget about the research. It was as if he’d disappointed her somehow, causing his stomach to churn.

Hermione’s reaction to their night-time escapade was as expected. She was horrified at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row. 

‘If Filch had caught you!’ she screeched, mouth agape.

‘Yeah, well, he didn’t,’ shrugged Ron.

‘Still – that was very risky, Harry,’ she complained, then turning to Alexander, ‘and _you_. I thought you would have put a stop to it at least.’

Alexander placed his palms up in defence. ‘Hey, I tried. It’s not my fault Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here,’ he pointed with his thumb, ‘don’t listen.’

Harry looked somewhat sheepish and Ron grumbled but Hermione didn’t seem to hear him.

‘Did you at least find some headway with Nicholas Flamel,’ Hermione asked hopefully.

Alexander shifted uncomfortably. ‘Uh, no, not yet.’

Hermione sighed in discontent. ‘I would have thought you’d found something out.’

‘It’s like the man is a ghost. He doesn’t exist.’ Alexander rubbed a hand over his temple.

‘I wish I knew where I saw his name,’ Harry groaned in frustration, ‘I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere.’

‘Don’t worry,’ reassured Hermione, ‘now that classes have started, we’ll start looking again.’

Alexander realised how nice it was to have Hermione back again. Sure, Harry and Ron were still his best friends and great fun to be around, but Hermione’s presence added something that he couldn’t fully explain.

Once term started, they went back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the rest of them because Quidditch practise had started again. Wood made the team play longer and harder practises. Fred and George complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, more so than usual. Every evening, Harry arrived in the common room, shivering and dripping wet from the rain, his face weary with tiredness.

‘If you ask me, Wood needs to take a chill pill,’ Alexander observed, sitting on an armchair. His Charms essay was perched on his lap.

The good armchairs by the fire were claimed back by the older years, much to Ron’s chagrin. The redhead tried to protest but a sixth-year simply grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off with a gruff ‘move.’ Alexander had laughed at Ron’s disgruntled expression so much that his sides began to hurt.

‘Tell that to his face, then,’ Ron smirked at him.

‘Hmm, no thanks, I’d rather not be forced to listen to his ranting.’

Harry, however, admitted that Wood’s practises were helping with his nightmares.

‘What, they’re gone now?’ Ron asked, face alert.

Harry shrugged. ‘For the most part. They aren’t as bad when I’m tired from training.’

Alexander’s tone was hesitant. ‘Well, that’s a good thing, I guess.’

‘Absolutely,’ Harry replied with a fatigued smile. ‘I’m off to bed now. Good night.’

Alexander watched as Harry trudged upstairs to the dormitories. He didn’t know what to think of Harry’s method of dealing with his nightmares. It seemed to be helping Harry so it couldn’t have been _too_ bad. Shrugging internally, he turned back to his essay.

∞ ϟ 9¾

One evening, Alexander was watching Ron and Hermione play chess. It turned out that chess was the only thing that Hermione lost. Harry and Ron thought this was beneficial for her. 

‘Hermione, one of your pieces is defenceless,’ Alexander pointed.

‘What?’ Hermione, alarmed, spotted her unprotected knight.

‘You don’t need to tell her!’ snapped Ron, glaring at him.

‘She’s already losing,’ Alexander said, leaning back into the armchair.

‘Yes, thank you, Alexander,’ Hermione retorted, her voice aggravated. ‘Your support is comforting.’ Her head barely raised from the chess set and her hair was much bushier.

Alexander didn’t think Hermione liked losing very much. _Wow, she’s touchy_ , he thought.

Harry entered the common room and approached the three; his hue was deathly-pale.

‘Don’t talk to me for a moment,’ said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, ‘I need to concen —’ He caught sight of Harry’s face. ‘What’s the matter with you? You look terrible.’

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told them about Snape’s sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

‘I somehow doubt that Quidditch is Snape’s new and sudden calling,’ Alexander said dryly. ‘This isn’t a coincidence.’

‘I know,’ Harry agreed.

‘Slimy git,’ muttered Ron disdainfully.

‘Don’t play,’ said Hermione at once.

‘Use an excuse. Say you’re ill, for instance,’ said Alexander. ‘They can’t make you play if you’re puking all over your broomstick. Sticking your finger down your throat helps.’

‘And how do you know that?’ Hermione glared at him.

‘Just a suggestion,’ he mumbled.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t; he did it once to get out of a maths lesson in primary school but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. He’d never hear the end of her lecture if he did.

‘Pretend to break your leg,’ Hermione proposed, biting her lip thoughtfully. 

‘ _Really_ break your leg,’ said Ron.

‘I can’t,’ sighed Harry miserably. ‘There isn’t a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can’t play at all.’

Alexander winced. Talk about pressure. There was no way out for Harry. He was going to have to play.

‘You’d think Wood would have a back-up Seeker for how obsessed he is with this match.’

‘It’s not his fault,’ Harry defended. ‘No one wants to try-out for Seeker.’

Ron nodded with a grimace. ‘Yeah, Fred told me the Seeker last year had to go to the Hospital Wing with several broken bones. It wasn’t a pretty sight.’

‘Well done, Ronald,’ sighed Alexander, ‘you just made Harry feel better.’

‘What?’ echoed Ron’s confused voice. 

At that moment, Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone’s guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop up to Gryffindor Tower.

‘Neville!’ burst Alexander over the sounds of jeering, ‘what happened to you?’

Hermione was the only one who leapt up and performed the counter-curse.

‘Trouble walking, Longbottom?’ sneered a fourth-year, and Neville turned crimson.

‘Oh, piss off, Jones!’ snapped Alexander.

‘Alright, calm down, Laurent, we’re only joking.’

Neville’s legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. Hermione leads him over to sit with them.

‘Malfoy,’ said Neville shakily. ‘I met him outside the library. He said he’d been looking for someone to practice that on.’

Alexander gritted his teeth. ‘I’m gonna kill that blond ferret.’

‘No,’ Neville shook his head nervously, ‘I- I don’t want you to get into trouble.’

‘You’re my friend, Neville, it’ll be for a worthy cause. Besides, it’ll be worth it to see Malfoy brought down a peg or two.’

‘No, Alexander,’ Hermione said severely. ‘You’ll only get yourself into trouble. Neville, go to Professor McGonagall!’

‘Report him!’ urged Harry.

‘I don’t want more trouble,’ Neville mumbled.

‘You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville!’ burst Ron. ‘He’s used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.’

‘There’s no need to tell me I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy’s already done that,’ Neville choked out.

‘Don’t listen to such rubbish,’ Alexander snorted. ‘Of course, you’re brave, Neville. It’s the blond ferret who’s too cowardly.’

Harry pulled out a Chocolate Frog. He offered it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry. ‘You’re worth twelve of Malfoy. The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.’

‘Uh, there’s nothing wrong with being in Slytherin,’ Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Harry threw him a look. ‘You know what I mean.’ 

Neville’s lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. ‘Thanks, Harry . . . I think I’ll go to bed. D’you want the card, you collect them, don’t you?’

Harry took the card from Neville. Alexander wished he could have done more to stop Malfoy. The blond ferret only picked on Neville because he was too cowardly to go against someone who could stand up against him.

‘Dumbledore again,’ Harry mentioned, ‘he was the first one I ever —’ 

Harry suddenly gasped and Alexander was curious to know what caught his attention. Harry stared in disbelief at the card.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I’ve found him!’ Harry whispered. ‘I’ve found Flamel! I told you I’d read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here.’

Alexander’s previous tiredness vanished; he was much more alert after Harry’s exclamation and leaned forwards, fingers gripping the armrests. Ron and Hermione were equally stunned. 

Harry continued, voice rushed and enthused, ‘listen to this: “Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel”!’

‘Alchemy?’ breathed Alexander. ‘Isn’t that an ancient practise?’

‘Apparently not,’ said Harry, wide-eyed.

Hermione jumped to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hadn’t looked so excited since they’d gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework. ‘Stay there!’ she said before sprinting up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories.

The three boys barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

‘I never thought to look in here!’ she whispered breathlessly. ‘I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.’

‘Light?’ said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she’d looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

Alexander's lips quirk up in amusement. He, too, was gazing intriguingly at the book Hermione was skimming. Wasn’t alchemy a medieval practise by scientists of the period who said they could turn metal into gold?

At last, she found what she was looking for. ‘I knew it! I knew it!’

‘Are we allowed to speak yet?’ said Ron grumpily.

‘You’ve found Flamel, right?’ Alexander asked, already knowing the answer.

Hermione nodded, ignoring Ron’s comment. ‘Nicolas Flamel,’ she whispered quite dramatically, ‘is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!’

‘The _what_?’ said Harry and Ron.

Alexander rolled his eyes.

‘Oh, _honestly_ , don’t you two read?’ Hermione scoffed.

‘So, the Stone is real?’ Alexander spoke in a rapid tone.

‘Yes! The Stone exists. It’s what Fluffy is guarding.’

‘If anytime in the next few minutes, you’d like to tell Harry and me what you two are jabbering on about, that’d be great.’ Ron mumbled.

She pushed the book towards them. ‘Look — read that, there.’

The three boys leaned over to read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

Alexander's mouth dropped open as he turned to glance at Hermione whose eyes were lit up in excitement. Harry and Ron were still reading. Alexander was astounded. He’d never felt so young in his life. And he thought Grandfather was old.

‘See?’ said Hermione. ‘The dog must be guarding Flamel’s Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it, that’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!’

‘A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!’ said Harry.

“Well, no wonder Snape’s after it!’ Alexander remarked. ‘Anyone would want it.’

‘And no wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that _Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_ ,’ said Ron. ‘He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?’

∞ ϟ 9¾

The next morning, Harry concluded his fate in the Quidditch match.

‘I’m going to play,’ he told Ron, Hermione, and Alexander. ‘If I don’t, all the Slytherins will think I’m just too scared to face Snape. I’ll show them – it’ll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.’

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry as if he were walking off to his death.

‘Sure, as long as we’re not wiping you off the field,’ said Alexander, causing Harry to swallow heavily. In a more serious tone, he warned, ‘be careful. I wouldn’t put it past Snape to not try anything.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

When they wished Harry good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, Ron and Hermione appeared as if they were wondering whether they’d ever see Harry alive again. _Way to cheer him up, you two_ , Alexander internally sighed.

‘Don’t worry, Harry,’ assured Alexander. ‘You’ll win this.’

Harry gave a weak half-smile and thanked them before stepping inside the changing rooms.

The three of them, meanwhile, made their way up to the Quidditch stands and found a place next to Neville, who couldn’t understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match.

‘Hello, Neville,’ Alexander greeted.

‘Er, hi, Alex. Why do you guys have your wands?’

‘No reason. It’s become a habit to have it with us,’ he was quick to reply and Neville accepted this.

The three of them had made a plan days before the match that they would not allow Snape or anyone, for that matter, to harm Harry. Ron and Hermione had been secretly practising the Leg-Locker Curse by getting the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville. The blond ferret was useful for something. Alexander scanned through books that had anything to do with curses and jinxes. He had a few ready and hoped they’d work well enough.

‘Now, don’t forget, it’s _Locomotor Mortis_ ,’ Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

‘I know,’ Ron snapped. ‘Don’t nag.’

Hermione gasped and pointed with a finger. ‘Look, Dumbledore’s in the crowd!’

A flash of silver beard indicated that she was right.

Ron sighed in relief. ‘Harry’ll be fine now. Snape can’t do anything if Dumbledore’s watching.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t,’ muttered Alexander quietly as to not attract attention. ‘But, just to be on the safe side, we should still be prepared.’

Snape was a blur of fury as the teams marched out onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.

‘I’ve never seen Snape look so mean,’ he told them. ‘Look — they’re off.’

The team launched into the air on their broomsticks. Alexander’s heart raced as he scoured the air, one eye on Harry and the other on Snape.

‘Ouch!’ Ron’s voice rang.

Malfoy had swaggered up to where Ron was sat, smirking delightfully. ‘Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there.’

Alexander groaned. He was not in the mood for the ferret. His patience was already running thin from worrying about Harry and being angry at Neville’s jinx.

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?’

Ron didn’t answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk.

Malfoy, it seemed, was looking for a fight. ‘You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team? It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there are Potter and Laurent, who’ve got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.’

Clenching his jaw, Alexander breathed deeply to reign in his ire. Ron, unfortunately, was struggling and had turned as scarlet as a poppy flower. If this were a cartoon, Ron would have steam bursting from his ears.

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy. ‘I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,’ he stammered.

Alexander smiled proudly. _Go on, Neville_.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, ‘you tell him, Neville.’

‘Longbottom, if brains were gold, you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.’

‘Piss off, Daddy’s boy,’ rebuked Alexander, just in time too before Ron threw a punch. It would have been glorious, of course, but now was not the time for Malfoy’s goading to get under their skin – not when Harry’s life was on the line.

‘What’s the matter, Laurent? Scared Potter’s gonna do us all a favour and fall to his death?’

Malfoy’s next words caught his attention fully.

‘It’s a shame Antoine Laurent has you as a grandson. I’m sure he could’ve done much better. With you and your mother.’

Alexander furrowed his brows. ‘What are you talking about, Malfoy?’

Malfoy’s eyes glinted maliciously. ‘Who could blame him? Antoine Laurent having a blood traitor as a daughter. How. . . disappointing.’

Alexander swallowed, and his nails dug into his skin so deeply that he could’ve drawn blood. Malfoy must be lying, right?

Ron’s nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry. ‘I’m warning you, Malfoy — one more word —’

‘Alexander!’ said Hermione suddenly, ‘Harry — !’

Hermione’s voice brought him to the attention at hand. Shaking off his turbulent emotions, he squinted for a flash of red.

‘What? Where?’

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her fingers crossed in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

‘You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!’ taunted Malfoy.

Before Alexander could blink, Ron snapped; he threw himself on top of Malfoy, wrestling him to the ground.

‘Ron, no!’ Alexander yelled.

Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. Crabbe and Goyle were throwing punches at Neville who did his best to fight back. Yelps and shouts of pain sounded. A particularly nasty punch caused Alexander to brandish out his wand. He pointed his wand at the muscle set gorillas and spoke in a clear and quiet tone. Crabbe and Goyle flew backwards onto the floor. Their heavy bodies didn’t stand a chance; as they hit their head on the floor, Crabbe and Goyle became unconscious. Malfoy panicked now that his safety nets were gone. He thrashed around heavily as Ron punched every inch of his body while Neville assisted.

Alexander grinned and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Go on. Punch the ferret’s face in.’

All of a sudden, the stands erupted.

‘Alexander! Ron! The game’s over! Harry’s won! We’ve won! Gryffindor is in the lead!’ shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

‘We have?’ Alexander blinked. That was quick. Harry must have set a record.

The Gryffindors in the stands were hollering, yelling, cheering at the match. Hermione, with a wide beam, hugged him suddenly. Alexander, startled with the abrupt hug, came to rest them on against her back in a clumsy embrace. Hermione was much too excited to mind. She pulled back and grabbed his wrist, dragging him along with her.

‘Come on, let’s go meet Harry.’

As the Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, Snape spat bitterly on the ground. It was the most chaotic yet satisfying match to happen.

∞ ϟ 9¾

‘Harry, where have you been?’ Hermione squeaked.

‘We won! You won! We won!’ shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back.

‘Well done, mate. Knew you could do it,’ grinned Alexander.

‘You should’ve seen us on the stands,’ raved Ron. ‘I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville gave him a few bruises! He’s out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be all right — talk about showing Slytherin!’

‘Steady on, Ron,’ said Alexander in an amused tone. ‘But he’s right, Harry. It was truly magnificent.’

‘Alexander knocked out Crabbe and Goyle single-handedly! Whatever spell you did, they’re in the Hospital Wing right now.’

Alexander smirked. ‘Thought it’d be more effective to use a wand instead.’

Ron's cheeks went slightly pink. ‘Yeah, forgot about that. Caught up in the moment, you know. Anyways, Harry, everyone’s waiting for you in the common room, we’re having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens.’

‘Had a whole hamper’s worth of food, those two,’ said Alexander, and Ron agreed hungrily. 

‘Never mind that now,’ said Harry nervously.

Harry had an uneasy expression that caused the grin to slowly fade from Alexander.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘Let’s find an empty room, you wait ’til you hear this. . .’

The three followed Harry, making sure Peeves wasn’t inside. Harry related all he saw and heard when he disappeared for a few minutes after the match.

‘So we were right, it is the Philosopher’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy, and he said something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus-pocus’— I reckon other things are guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through —’

‘Wait, Snape specifically asked how to get past the dog? You’re sure?’ Alexander interjected.

‘Yes, Snape wants to get past to get to the Stone.’

‘So, you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?’ said Hermione in alarm.

‘It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,’ groaned Ron.

Alexander ran a hand through his hair. ‘ _Putain d'enfer_! Another thing to add to our plate of worries.’

‘Language!’ hissed Hermione.

A thought niggled in the back of his mind. Why would Snape give himself away to Quirrell? Surely, if he wanted to steal the Stone, he’d keep it a secret rather than broadcast his intentions.


	13. Dragons

The ferret’s remark about his Grandfather and mother lingered in Alexander’s mind during the next few days. It was hard to forget and every time he would focus on his homework or practise spells with Professor Flitwick, Malfoy’s taunt echoed – one word especially: ‘blood traitor.’ He didn’t know the full meaning of the word but had a slight inkling that Malfoy clearly hadn’t meant it in a good sense. Malfoy had sort of spat it out as if it were a dirty word to be associated with.

Alexander picked up a book in the library, during one of his free periods, called _Purebloods of British Wizarding Families_ and flicked through it as a way to satisfy his curiosity. The first few chapters didn’t have much information on blood traitor; the book simply defined what it meant to be a Pureblood. It detailed family trees and, to Alexander’s revulsion, he learnt that Purebloods nowadays frequently practised inbreeding to maintain the bloodline. He shivered at the horrifying notion and was eternally grateful that he would never be forced to marry any relative, not that he had any relatives apart from Grandfather. The book also had chapters dedicated to Half-bloods and Muggleborns.

Though the book was supposed to take an unbiased view, there was a slight tone of superiority, almost condescending-like, when it came to talking about muggles. Alexander checked who the author was and it turned out to be an old man who by now was in his eighties. Several pages before the end, his eye caught a mention of blood traitor. He leaned in to read:

“Blood traitor” is a disparaging term, commonly used by certain Pureblood witches and wizards, to describe those who sympathise with the muggles or willingly associate with other such sympathisers or with Muggleborns.

That was it. There was no other mention of the term in the book. Alexander’s mind raced. So, he was right. Malfoy had meant the term in a derogatory way – the book confirmed it, albeit briefly. His mother was a blood traitor according to the ferret, meaning she associated with Muggleborns or muggles. Yet, that was a good thing, and Alexander felt proud that his mother had not discriminated against Muggleborns.

But his Grandfather apparently wasn’t a blood traitor. Malfoy had suggested that his Grandfather was an elitist Pureblood, a concept that made Alexander’s stomach churn unpleasantly. Malfoy must have been lying to get a rise out of him. Granted Grandfather was stern and temperate, but he played football – a muggle sport – with Alexander sometimes. He brought the dark-haired boy muggle toys and books as presents. Also, Grandfather worked with muggles and Muggleborns every day as well as other wizards and witches. His closest companion was Eliot for God’s sake! A Squib. How could Grandfather have the same values and beliefs as Malfoy? Perhaps he didn’t know Grandfather as well as he thought he did. He vowed to ascertain more information.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Snape’s threat towards Quirrell hung on their minds in the next few weeks like a dark shadow. They constantly fretted that Snape would get his hands on the Stone sometime before the year was over. Alexander thought Quirrell’s nerves and determination were as weak as a plastic bag on a windy day – crumbling and unstable. It’d take a miracle for Quirrell to stand up against Snape.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, the four would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Harry would give Quirrell an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell’s stutter.

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they’d thought. His physical appearance was the only indication that revealed the burden, but it didn’t look as though he’d given in to Snape. Quirrell became paler and thinner while Snape started to become angrier and more prone to hostile outbursts in Potions. The Potions Master snarled furiously at Harry more often and reduced Neville to tears. No one dared to breathe in the lesson; the Gryffindors hardly raised their eyes to look him in the eyes in fear of losing points. Even the Slytherins were caught on the receiving end of Snape’s frustration after Crabbe stirred his Potion in the wrong direction and caused a smell so vile to erupt that some first-years physically gagged. Many students recoiled from the stench including Malfoy who pushed Crabbe roughly away from him to escape to the other side.

‘The miserable bat is getting on my last nerve,’ fumed Alexander, as he slung his book bag over his shoulder after the end of the lesson.

‘I know,’ grumbled Ron, face scrunched up in disdain. ‘I wish we didn’t have to do Potions.’

Hermione threw a disapproving glance. ‘This is a good thing. Snape’s mood, I mean,’ she pointed out, as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

Ron stared at her in disbelief. ‘Listen, I know you think all teachers are God’s gift on earth, Hermione, but even you can’t defend Snape. Not after he made Neville cry.’

‘I’m not defending him, Ronald, I meant in the wider sense.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘She’s right,’ Alexander concurred, realising Hermione’s thinking. ‘Snape’s anger means that he hasn’t found a way to get past Fluffy.’ The four had reached the Hall. Alexander reached out to pop a mint humbug in his mouth.

‘So, the Stone’s still safe,’ sighed Harry in relief.

‘Yeah, but who knows for how long?’ Alexander dragged his palms up his thighs. ‘Quirrell’s not exactly Superman, is he? He’s going to give in eventually.’

‘Who’s Superman?’ asked Ron confusedly through a mouthful of pork pie. Hermione shot him a disgusted look. ‘What?’

‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ stated Harry, his gaze focused on the high table where Snape saw Harry and sneered. ‘Snape getting past Fluffy.’ 

‘Let’s hope Quirrell has nerves of steel,’ said Alexander.

Ron snorted. ‘Fat chance.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

Sometime in March, Hermione became frazzled and stressed, much like how she was during the beginning of the year. She had much more on her mind than the Philosopher’s Stone. She had started drawing up a study timetable and colour-coding all her notes. Alexander was impressed with her work ethic if slightly daunted. No one valued their education greater than Hermione did, and it was something she had in common with his Grandfather. Exams in Alexander’s primary school were more like small tests rather than formal exams and he had a feeling that Hogwarts would require a full-on written and practical exam. One for the theory and one for demonstrating the magic.

Alexander wasn’t the type of person to revise his notes days before the exam, but a couple of weeks before. As long as he was calm and had eaten on the day, he’d do well. He wondered what would happen if someone failed yet didn’t ask Hermione because he didn’t want to worsen her stress levels more so than usual. Perhaps, they might have to repeat the year. Alexander couldn’t think of anything worse than failing exams then having to watch everyone else in the year progress further. Ron, however, told him that failing the first-year happens very rarely and the last person to fail attended over thirty years ago. Though Ron admitted, smirking, that the record could be broken this year with Crabbe and Goyle, causing Alexander to snicker and nod in agreement.

Alexander would hear Hermione mutter her notes throughout their meals in the Hall and would often have a book open on the wooden table. Her brown eyes fixed on the book while she placed food in her mouth simultaneously. Alexander admired her dedication though believed it was a bit excessive. He had complete faith that Hermione would pass all her exams, even History of Magic. Because if Hermione Granger failed an exam, what chance did the rest of their year have?

Hermione also urged Harry and Ron to start revising, much to their disgruntlement. While Alexander hadn’t exactly begun properly revising, he did skim through his notes occasionally.

‘Why aren’t you nagging Alexander?’ demanded Ron, as he was playing a chess game with Harry. Alexander and Neville were sat on the sofa watching the two.

‘Alexander doesn’t need me to tell him to revise. He’s already doing it,’ she sniffed.

Ron turned to stare at Alexander in incredulity and Alexander shook his head.

‘It’s not really revising,’ he defended.

Hermione threw him a slight glare and he slid deeper into the sofa. Hermione’s glare was truly terrifying to be the recipient off, even if it was a small one. ‘You need to take this seriously – this is our future we’re talking about,’ she snapped.

Neville shifted uncomfortably and swallowed nervously.

‘Hermione, the exams are ages away,’ moaned Ron, collecting another piece of Harry’s set.

‘Ten weeks! That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicolas Flamel.’

‘But we’re not six hundred years old.’

Alexander widened his eyes, alarmed at her comment. ‘Wait, only ten weeks. It seems shorter when you say it like that. Maybe we should be revising now.’

‘You see,’ Hermione said haughtily at Ron. ‘It’s not that long now.’

Ron scoffed, ‘Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all.’

Hermione’s mouth dropped as if she couldn’t believe Ron’s ignorance. ‘What am I studying for? Are you crazy?’

‘What?’ shrugged Ron rather carelessly as he peered at Hermione’s disbelieving scowl. ‘It was only a question.’

‘Wow, Ron, run while you still can,’ laughed Alexander, and Harry grinned.

Unimpressed, Hermione gazed at Ron. ‘You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.’ And with that, she marched up to the girls’ dormitory.

Ron grinned victoriously as he yelled ‘checkmate.’ Harry sighed in disappointment.

‘Hermione might be right you know, mate,’ reminded Alexander. ‘It’s safer to get an early start.’

Ron groaned. ‘Yeah, yeah. Look, you two can start now but Harry and me are waiting for later.’ Harry shrugged in response.

‘It’s up to you.’ Alexander rose from the sofa and made his way to the dormitories.

The teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework that the Easter holidays had Alexander and Hermione in the library most of the time trying to maintain their workload. Alexander had improved with Astronomy thanks to Hermione’s help. Professor Sinistra thought so too because she praised Hermione one lesson for her assistance, in which she trembled excitedly, and Alexander for his hard work and effort, causing him to redden in embarrassment. Astronomy homework was easier to complete now that he understood the basics. Yet, along with other core subjects and Professor Flitwick’s extra charm work, Alexander’s free periods was jam-packed. Annoyingly, this meant that he couldn’t research information on his Grandfather or Purebloods, not if it meant falling behind.

Other subjects weren’t difficult per se – though Ron and Harry may disagree – the work content was just much higher. Alexander could hear Hermione recite the twelve uses of dragon’s blood or practise wand movements. Harry and Ron were expectedly displeased with the sudden stacking of homework. Moaning and yawning, the two joined Hermione and Alexander in the library during most of their free time.

‘It’s like the Professors think we don’t have lives,’ grumbled Ron, scowling with one hand tucked under his chin and a quill hovering over his blank parchment.

Alexander shot him a side-glance. ‘We’re at a _school_ , Ronald, not Disneyland. What did you think was gonna happen?’ Alexander’s quill scribbled down the colour of the spell that turned mice into snuffboxes. Harry snickered. Hermione had tuned out the lot of them and was reciting a Potion’s ingredients to herself.

‘What’s Disneyland?’ Ron asked rather loudly and a pretty fifth-year girl shushed him with a fierce glare. Mortified, Ron’s cheeks blazed ruby and he kept his head lowered to his essay.

A tiny smirk upturned the corner of Alexander’s mouth.

‘Shut up, Alex,’ muttered Ron.

Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time that Alexander thought a girl was beautiful. He was finding that many of the girls he saw throughout the castle, through corridors, the courtyard, and the Great Hall, were very pretty. He didn’t know what it was but sometimes their hair glowed nicely; some had vivid eye colours or unforgettable smiles. The most bizarre thing, however, was his reaction to it. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded quicker like he had done a small sprint. He was hypersensitive of his surroundings and himself in a way he’d never thought of before and it was difficult to make sense of. All of a sudden, his hair didn’t look good enough or his lips were too dry. Other moments, his brain would induce him to think a cluster of third-year girls somehow were laughing at him and cause him to feel uneasy. Harry and Ron didn’t have this problem, though maybe not yet. They didn’t turn red if a pretty girl so much as glanced at them.

Ron’s outburst disturbed the pages of Alexander’s thoughts. ‘I’ll never remember this.’ Ron threw down his quill and stared longingly out of the library window. The day was postcard-perfect, for the first time in months; it was the type of weather that feels like a kiss of summer without the fiery heat of an August noon. The grass was freshly-cut green and the sky blazed a brilliant blue.

Harry was staring fixedly at _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ and didn’t lookup.

‘I don’t think everything’s going to be on the exams, Ron,’ said Alexander. ‘Maybe you don’t need to remember every detail.’ In a quieter tone, he leaned in closer to say, ‘though I expect Hermione will.’ Ron snorted and Hermione snapped her head up, narrowing her brown eyes suspiciously at the two boys. Alexander quickly jotted down another use for dragon’s blood.

‘Hagrid!’ came Ron’s excited voice. The other three snapped their heads up at the sight of their familiar hairy friend. ‘What are you doing in the library?’

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. ‘Jus’ lookin’,’ he said, in a shifty voice.

Alexander sighed internally. If Hagrid was trying not to look dubious, then he was doing a bad job.

‘An’ what’re you lot up ter?’ Hagrid looked suddenly suspicious. ‘Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?’

‘Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,’ said Ron, waving a hand to dismiss the question, ‘and we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s a Philosopher’s St —’

‘Shhhh!’ Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. ‘Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?’

‘ _Merde_ , Ron,’ exclaimed Alexander in exasperation. ‘You don’t need to broadcast it to the whole of Hogwarts.’

Ron had the decency to appear sheepish and mumble an apology.

‘There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,’ began Harry, ‘about what’s guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy —’ 

‘SHHHH!’ hissed Hagrid again. ‘Listen, come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin’ about it in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh —’ 

‘Mmm, I’m sure you’ve been a great help,’ smirked Alexander, leaning back in his chair.

‘See you later, then,’ said Harry. Hagrid shuffled out right before Pince could throw him out as the librarian did look shiftily in their direction.

‘What was he hiding behind his back?’ said Hermione thoughtfully. ‘Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?’

‘No,’ denied Alexander. ‘He just said students aren’t supposed to know, so why would he have something to do with the Stone in a place where most of the Hogwarts population can see.’

Hermione nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right. It would be rather imprudent.’

Ron stood up. ‘I’m going to see what section he was in,’ he declared, having had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table. ‘Dragons!’ he whispered. ‘Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_ ; _From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide_.’

Alexander’s blue eyes widened. ‘Dragons! Hey, I saw one when I visited Gringotts in the summer.’

‘But why is Hagrid looking at dragons?’

‘Something tells me this isn’t a harmless hobby,’ muttered Alexander dryly.

‘Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him,’ Harry said to them.

‘But it’s against our laws,’ explained Ron. ‘Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, _everyone_ knows that.’

Alexander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Some of the things that Ron said were hilarious, but others were just plain ignorant and tone-deaf. Hermione looked as if she wanted to interrupt but chose to remain silent.

Ron continued, ‘It’s hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden — anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie’s got off wild ones in Romania.’

‘But there aren’t wild dragons in Britain?’ said Harry.

‘Of course, there are,’ said Ron. ‘Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind has to keep putting spells on Muggles who’ve spotted them, to make them forget.’

‘What happens if they remember?’ inquired Alexander.

‘They don’t, that’s the point.’

‘Wait, so the spell doesn’t wear off? The ministry doesn’t keep using the spell repeatedly – it’s permanent?’

Ron furrowed his brows and shrugged. ‘Uh, I’m not sure. But Charlie told me that it works.’

‘So what on earth’s Hagrid up to?’ questioned Hermione.

‘I don’t know,’ Alexander shook his head then admitted, ‘but I have a hunch that it isn’t good.’

‘Let’s hope your hunch is wrong,’ Hermione bit her lip worriedly.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The four made their way to Hagrid’s hut an hour later, minds racing at what Hagrid could be hiding. The sweet fragrance of summer’s promise lingered in the air. The older years lounged out across the grass, enjoying the sunshine. He saw Nia and Helen sat together against a tree but they were too far to notice him. Alexander’s Gryffindor tie hung loosely around his collar shirt, sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he decided to forego his school Cloak.

The gamekeeper’s curtains were all closed. Something was wrong. Hermione glanced anxiously at him; Alexander raised a fist to rap on the wooden front door.

Hagrid called, ‘Who is it?’ before he let them in, then shut the door quickly behind them when Alexander replied.

A flash of heat slammed against his face. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. It was unbearable and Alexander was thankful that he hadn’t worn his Cloak. The others hadn’t been so lucky and looked very uncomfortable. Fang bounded towards Alexander, tongue lolling in what seemed a grin. Alexander laughed and patted the loveable dog. Fang barked happily.

Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they all refused.

‘So — yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. They’d all agreed that there was no point in beating around the bush. ‘We were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Philosopher’s Stone apart from Fluffy.’

Alexander peered up at Hagrid’s surprised expression. Hagrid frowned at Harry.

‘O’ course I can’t,’ he said. ‘Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell yeh if I could. That Stone’s here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts — I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.’

‘That kind of doesn’t matter at this point, Hagrid,’ dismissed Alexander. ‘But you must know something. Dumbledore probably told you.’ Alexander tried to keep his tone steady and urging. With the right encouragement, Hagrid could be persuaded to tell them. They just needed patience. 

‘No, yer lot need ter give it up. It’s already bad enough yer kno’ about Fluffy,’ groused a frustrated Hagrid.

‘Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on around here,’ said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice.

Hagrid’s beard twitched; he was smiling.

‘We only wondered who had done the guarding, really,’ Hermione went on, ‘we wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.’ Hagrid’s chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione. Alexander gazed in admiration at her. Who knew Hermione Granger had a manipulative streak? Every day he discovered new sides to her.

Hagrid ran a hand across his bushy beard. ‘Well, I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that. Let’s see, he borrowed Fluffy from me, then some o’ the teachers did enchantments . . . Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor McGonagall —’ he ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Professor Quirrell an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah — Professor Snape.’

‘Snape?’ burst Harry disbelievingly.

‘Yeah — yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.’

 _Or used it as a cover_ , thought Alexander. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything, everything except, it seemed, Quirrell’s spell and how to get past Fluffy. Which meant that Snape was close. The other three also appeared worried – Harry had turned pale.

‘You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?’ prodded Harry anxiously. ‘And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?’

‘Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,’ declared Hagrid in a proud voice.

‘Well, that’s something,’ Harry muttered to them.

Alexander wasn’t so sure. If Hagrid could accidentally inform four first-years like themselves about Fluffy and Nicholas Flamel, who is to say he wouldn’t tell Snape how to get past? Hagrid was a kind and trustworthy person that Alexander would trust with Apollo, but he wasn’t exactly the Picasso at holding secrets.

‘Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling.’

Harry’s voice reminded Alexander how oppressive the hut had become. He didn’t even want to think about how the others felt. Hermione’s cheeks flushed reddish. Even though he’d shed his heavy clothing, Alexander felt a small trickle of sweat creep down the back of his neck. He tugged at his collar shirt with two fingers.

‘Can’t, Harry, sorry,’ said Hagrid, who glanced at the fire.

‘Hagrid, what are you doing with that?’ asked Alexander, narrowing his eyes at the source of all the heat. In the very centre, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

‘Ah,’ said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard and avoiding eye contact with any of them, ‘That’s – er . . .’

‘Where did you get it, Hagrid?’ said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. ‘It must’ve cost you a fortune.’

‘Yeah, those aren’t exactly cheap, Hagrid,’ Alexander raised an eyebrow.

‘Won it,’ confessed Hagrid. ‘Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.’

‘I’ll say . . .’

‘But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?’ challenged Hermione.

Hagrid grinned in triumph. ‘Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’.’ He pulled out a large book from under his pillow. ‘Got this outta the library – _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ – it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here.’ 

Alexander caught Hermione’s eye and they shared an apprehensive glance. They both knew this wouldn’t turn out good in the long run.

Hagrid continued in a happy tone, ‘Keep the egg in the fire, ’cause their mothers breathe on ’em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here — how ter recognize diff’rent eggs — what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.’ He looked delighted with himself.

Hermione in a flat tone pointed out, ‘Hagrid, you live in a wooden house.’

‘She’s right, Hagrid. Wood is highly flammable in spreading fire. How else do you think the Great Fire of London spread?’ argued Alexander.

‘They won’t do any harm,’ defended Hagrid.

‘Hagrid, a Welsh Green caused the Fire, you know that,’ said Ron.

Alexander turned his head towards Ron, eyes wide. ‘Wait, what? I thought a Baker started it on Pudding Lane.’

‘No, that’s the cover story so the muggles don’t suspect. It was a Welsh Green, really,’ Ron shook his head.

‘That’s all the more reason, Hagrid,’ came Hermione’s strained voice.

But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire. Alexander sighed in dismay.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Along with worrying about Snape getting his hand on the Stone, they were now concerned about what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut. Hagrid was the kindest man Alexander ever knew, next to Eliot. He’d hate to see him lose his house and job because of his dangerous obsession with dragons.

‘Wonder what it’s like to have a peaceful life,’ sighed Ron, staring wretchedly at the pile of homework he was given.

‘When was the last time you had a hobby, perhaps,’ snorted Alexander, half-way through to finishing his Herbology essay. Neville’s book gifted on his birthday was a blessing.

‘Last year, maybe,’ muttered Harry. Hermione had now started making study timetables for Harry and Ron, too. It was driving them mad. Alexander found their irritated expressions hilarious.

One breakfast time, Harry’s owl, Hedwig, brought another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words in a messy scribble: It’s hatching.

‘Right, well, I’m skipping Herbology. After I eat, I’m going straight down to Hagrid’s,’ declared Ron. ‘Who’s with me?’

Hermione wouldn’t hear of it. ‘No, you can’t,’ she hissed. ‘You’ll miss out on something important for the exam.’

Ron groaned. ‘Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?’

‘He’s got a point,’ shrugged Alexander, earning a scowl from Hermione and a grin from Ron.

‘We’ve got lessons, we’ll get into trouble, and that’s nothing to what Hagrid’s going to be in when someone finds out what he’s doing —’ 

‘Shut up!’ whispered Harry. Alexander glanced around. Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped in his tracks. How much had he heard? The ferret’s face was blank. Did he know about the dragon and Hagrid?

During the walk to Herbology, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid’s during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the four of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest.

Hagrid greeted them, flushed and excited. ‘It’s nearly out.’ He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table with deep cracks all over its surface. It was close to hatching. Something was moving inside, ringing a strange clicking noise. They all drew their chairs up to the table. The cracks were becoming larger. _Any second now_. All at once, there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It was an unpleasant creature, resembling a crumpled umbrella than the majestic dragon in Gringotts. Its spiny wings were disproportionately large compared to its skinny, jet body; it had a long snout with nostrils the size of golf balls, the stubs of horns and bulging orange eyes. The baby dragon sneezed and sparks flew out of its snout.

‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

Beautiful was not exactly the word Alexander would use to describe it.

‘Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!’ cried Hagrid.

Alexander bit his inner lip to stop himself from laughing.

‘Hagrid,’ Hermione spoke up, ‘how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?’

Hagrid opened his mouth to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face. He leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

Alexander snapped around. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Someone was lookin’ through the gap in the curtains – it’s a kid. He’s runnin’ back up ter the school.’

Harry bolted to the door, looked out, and his expression was horrified.

‘Did you see him, Harry?’

‘I did,’ came Harry’s hoarse whisper. ‘It’s Malfoy.’ And just like that, a sick feeling settled in the pit of Alexander’s stomach. _This can’t be good_.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The smile on Malfoy’s face during the next week was sinister. Alexander constantly watched the blond ferret, looking for anything Malfoy would say that would place Hagrid in trouble. He darkly vowed that if Malfoy got Hagrid fired, the ferret would get what’s coming for him. Harry was a mess. He nervously fidgeted every time he saw Malfoy. Alexander had to nudge him often.

‘Stop that,’ he muttered quietly to Harry. ‘You’re only going to make him more suspicious.’

Alexander also spent time with the other three in Hagrid’s darkened hut, trying to reason with him about the dragon.

‘You need to let him go, Hagrid,’ implored Alexander. ‘Set him free.’

‘I can’t,’ said Hagrid with a small shake. ‘He’s too little. He’d die.’

They looked at the dragon. To describe it as a baby would have been highly inaccurate, appearance-wise. Smoke furled out of its nostrils, and it had grown three times in length. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor. Hagrid had neglected his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy, which, in Alexander’s opinion, seemed quite irresponsible.

‘I’ve decided to call him Norbert,’ proclaimed Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. ‘He knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where’s Mummy?’

‘He’s lost his marbles,’ Ron murmured to them, and Alexander found himself agreeing with Ron.

Harry also entreated Hagrid to see reason. ‘Hagrid,’ Harry began loudly, ‘give it two weeks and Norbert’s going to be as long as your house.’

‘ ‘course Norbert’s going to grow,’ shrugged Hagrid. ‘He’s su’posed to grow.’ 

‘He doesn't belong here,’ explained Alexander, ‘let Norbert grow up in the wild with other dragons. He’ll be much happier there.’

Hagrid bit his lip and in an unsure tone admitted, ‘I – I know he doesn’t, but I can’t jus’ dump him, I can’t.’

‘Charlie,’ said Harry to Ron.

Alexander stared. ‘No, that's Ron,’ he corrected. ‘Charlie is his older brother, remember.’

‘You’re losing it, too,’ worried Ron.

‘No – Charlie – your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!’

‘Harry Potter, sometimes your brain works wonders,’ professed Alexander in a thrilled tone.

‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Ron and snapped his head up. ‘How about it, Hagrid?’ Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Wednesday night found Alexander, Hermione, and Harry alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Alexander was pacing around the room as the other two watched him nervously. The portrait hole burst open when the clock on the wall chimed midnight. Ron appeared as he pulled off Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid’s hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

‘It bit me!’ he said in a pained voice, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief.

Alexander grimaced. ‘Yeah, that does look rough, mate.’

Ron sighed. ‘I’m not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon’s the most horrible animal I’ve ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you’d think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me, he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby.’

‘People love their animals, some more than others.’

‘You’re telling me,’ grumbled Ron.

A tapping noise came from the dark window. ‘It’s Hedwig,’ acknowledged Harry, hurrying to let her in. ‘She’ll have Charlie’s answer!’ The four of them put their heads together to read the note.

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for your letter. I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon. Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark. Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love, Charlie.

‘We’ve got the Invisibility Cloak,’ assured Harry. ‘It shouldn’t be _too_ difficult – I think the cloak’s big enough to cover us and Norbert.’

‘This is going to go horribly wrong,’ groaned Alexander. ‘You all remember what happened the last time we were out that late.’

‘Always the voice of doom,’ Hermione rolled her eyes.

‘But it’s the only plan we’ve got,’ said Harry.

Well, anything to get rid of Norbert and Malfoy off their backs.

∞ ϟ 9¾

But, as always, everything went to _merde_ , starting from the next morning. Ron’s bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size and looked like a blown-up red balloon. He didn’t know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey because she might recognise a dragon bite. By the afternoon, the cut had turned a nasty shade of green. Ron had no choice because Alexander warned him that if he didn’t go himself, then Alexander would drag him straight to bed number three.

Ron was in a terrible state in bed when they visited him.

‘It’s not just my hand,’ he whispered, ‘although that feels like it’s about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me – I’ve told her it was a dog, but I don’t think she believes me – I shouldn’t have hit him at the Quidditch match, that’s why he’s doing this.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, Ron,’ muttered Alexander with a scowl. ‘The ferret has been headed out for you and Harry since the beginning – this was bound to happen.’

‘It’ll all be over at midnight on Saturday,’ reassured Hermione, but Ron wasn’t soothed at all.

He bolted upright and broke into a sweat. ‘Midnight on Saturday!’ he said in a guttural voice. ‘Oh no – oh no —’

‘What’s wrong,’ urged Alexander, glancing worriedly. Ron appeared as if he had been told that Hagrid has been fired and left Hogwarts suddenly.

‘I’ve just remembered – Charlie’s letter was in that book Malfoy took, he’s going to know we’re getting rid of Norbert.’

Alexander’s blood ran cold, and he sharply inhaled. Before the three of them could answer though, Madam Pomfrey stormed over and ushered them out, announcing that Ron needed sleep. Ron threw them a gloomy look as they glanced over their shoulders.

‘It’s too late to change the plan now,’ mumbled Harry, outside the Hospital Wing. ‘We haven’t got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We’ll have to risk it.’

‘This is all sorts of reckless,’ sighed Alexander, then with a tiny smirk added, ‘but what we have in our favour is Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, Malfoy doesn’t know about _that_.’

Fang sat outside Hagrid’s hut with a bandaged tail. Alexander gave him a comforting pet and Fang whimpered woefully.

Hagrid opened a window to talk to them. ‘I won’t let you in,’ he puffed. ‘Norbert’s at a tricky stage – nothin’ I can’t handle.’

Alexander doubted that judging by Fang’s tail but chose to keep quiet. When they told him about Charlie’s letter, his eyes filled with tears, though it could have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

‘Aargh! It’s all right, he only got my boot – jus’ playin’ – he’s only a baby, after all.’

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Alexander, Harry, and Hermione walked back to the castle.

‘I thought animals were meant to make you a more responsible person,’ Alexander said wryly. ‘This seems to be having the opposite effect on Hagrid.’

‘Don’t worry,’ sighed Harry. ‘Saturday will be here soon.’

‘I hope so. I swear Hagrid couldn’t have wanted a goldfish like anyone else . . .’

∞ ϟ 9¾

Alexander might have been induced to feel sympathy for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if he didn’t have to wake up before midnight.

It was a dark and cloudy night. Grumbling and irritated, Alexander arrived a bit late with Harry and Hermione at Hagrid’s hut because they’d had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he’d been playing tennis against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

‘He’s got lots o’ rats an’ some brandy fer the journey,’ said Hagrid in a muffled voice. ‘An’ I’ve packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.’

Sighing in irritation, Alexander watched as Hagrid’s face scrunched up in sadness. He’d feel bad about it later, but right now he just wants that crate far in the air, away from the school, so Hagrid’s job was safe and he could scramble back into bed.

Inside the crate sounded ripping noises. The teddy’s head was probably ripped off.

‘Bye-bye, Norbert!’ sobbed Hagrid, as the three covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. ‘Mummy will never forget you!’

Alexander, Harry, and Hermione carried one side of the crate each. After realising their arms were strained with difficulty, Alexander had an idea and drew his wand out and whispered a spell that made the weight lighter. The two threw him a grateful glance and he gave a curt nod. They walked back up the castle, able to breathe easier.

Midnight ticked nearer as they hoisted Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Alexander led them through a shortcut passageway the twins showed him. They were nearly there when they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. Footsteps sounded from ahead and a sudden movement almost caused Alexander to drop the crate. He gazed at Harry and Hermione and placed a forefinger on his lips, signalling to be quiet. They shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people ten feet away. A lamp flared. Alexander’s heart jumped in his mouth. Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hairnet, had Malfoy by the ear.

‘Detention!’ she yelled, tone filled with utter fury. ‘And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you —’ 

Alexander could have cried from satisfaction. This was a glorious sight that he would cherish. Draco Malfoy pulled along by the ears like a brat of a child who had to be disciplined. 

‘You don’t understand, Professor. Harry Potter’s coming – he’s got a dragon!’

‘What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!’

Alexander walked up the steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower with a smirk. Not until they’d stepped out into the cold night air, did they throw off the Cloak. Chilly air rushed into his lungs, a welcome change to the stuffy Cloak.

Hermione did a sort of jig. ‘Malfoy’s got detention! I could sing!’

‘Don’t,’ Alexander advised her. ‘McGonagall’s got cat ears, remember. She could probably hear us from here.’

Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks swooped down out of the darkness.

‘About time,’ exhaled Alexander.

‘Alright, you lot?’ grinned a stocky man with light brown hair.

Charlie’s friends were a cheery bunch. They showed the three the harness they’d rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Alexander, Harry, and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them.

‘Take care, guys,’ said the stocky man. ‘Let us know of any other dragons you come across.’ He smiled teasingly.

At last, Norbert was going . . . going . . . gone. Alexander breathed the first sigh of relief after a couple of weeks. It was as if a ton of weights that were pressed down on his chest has lifted and he could finally breathe easier. _It was over_.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, Alexander’s heart as light as his hands. Unfortunately, all happy things must come to an end. Filch’s face loomed out of the darkness like a dark omen. His blood turned icy and it was too late to hide because the slimy caretaker had seen them.

‘Well, well, well,’ he whispered, ‘we are in trouble.’

Alexander could have cursed out loud. How could he have been so stupid? He was so caught up in his jubilation and thinking about his sleep, that he’d forgotten the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower. _We’re so fucked_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione definitely has a manipulative streak. She could be ruthless if she wanted to, more so than Harry and Ron, though Harry does have his moments.


	14. The Forbidden Forest

Alexander’s feet felt like lead, weighing him down with each step that he took. The evening was cool and the breeze rattled the windows of the corridors they walked down, but his blood was icy and his muscles rigid. He had lost any sense of how long they’d been following Filch; his heart hammered loudly and his brain was short-circuiting with anxious thoughts. Were they going to be expelled? Was Filch taking them to the Headmaster’s office? They can’t be the only people in Hogwarts who walked the castle at night. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the Cloak? There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept their being out of bed and sneaking around the school in the dead of night, let alone being in the Astronomy Tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. _We might as well be packing our bags already_ , thought Alexander bitterly.

Filch led them down to Professor McGonagall’s study on the first floor, where they sat and waited. Harry didn’t look at any of them, his eyes behind the spectacles were staring intensely at one spot on the floor. Hermione sat next to Alexander, and he could feel her trembling. His heart ached as her bottom lip quivered and her soulful, brown eyes misted with tears. She must have been worried to death. Her biggest nightmare since coming to Hogwarts came true. Taking a deep breath, he gave her elbow a faint squeeze. Alexander wished Eliot were here to give Hermione a more comforting hug. Eliot would know what to do. Alexander was more like his Grandfather when it came to consoling others: awkward and clumsy. Any other time, he would have been delighted to be more like his Grandfather, but right now, it was a hindrance; he longed to make others feel better, he just didn’t know how to. However, he must have done a satisfactory job because Hermione gave him a fragile, thin smile. Alexander felt his heart jump and he grinned back. Hermione wrapped her tiny hands around his right elbow, clinging for dear life.

Excuses, alibis, and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Alexander’s brain, each more pathetic than the last. They were sleepwalking and had just woken up. No, Professor McGonagall would never believe that. They wanted to stretch their legs by walking around the castle. Even as he thought about it, Alexander realised how weak his excuses sounded. Every other time, he would have thought of a fantastic explanation, but it was something about the night that caused his brain to work slower. He couldn’t see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were cornered.

The wait was the longest minutes of Alexander's life. His left leg repeatedly vibrated and he constantly ran a hand through his hair. Hermione sniffed every few seconds. Suddenly, her grip around his elbow tightened and she sharply inhaled. Alexander snapped his head around and immediately wished that he hadn’t. If he thought the situation was worse before, then someone had truly _merde partout_. When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville. His face was panicked and he was gesturing to Harry.

‘Harry!’ Neville burst out, the moment he saw them. ‘I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag —’

Alexander shook his head vigorously to shut Neville up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towered over the four of them. The piece of lead in his stomach became heavier as her severe gaze burned down on them, lips pursed.

‘I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr Filch says you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Explain yourselves.’ It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher’s question. She was staring at her slippers, still as a graveyard, hand impossibly sealed around his elbow but he barely noticed. 

‘Professor, we – that is to say – I dragged them with me. It was my fault, you see.’

Harry’s head snapped towards Alexander, mouth set to protest but Alexander didn’t acknowledge him. If Professor McGonagall thought it was his idea, then the others would be let off easily. The stern Transfiguration teacher’s nostrils flared angrily, lips pursed even tighter that he could see the white appear.

‘You’re in enough trouble already, Laurent, don’t make it worse for yourself by lying,’ she said in a deathly whisper, brows flickering in a glare.

Alexander was inclined to argue until he felt a small squeeze. Hermione’s eyes bore pleadingly into his and she slowly shook her head. Alexander sighed.

‘I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I’ve already caught him.’

Alexander felt himself grow paler the longer McGonagall reproached them. He almost broke eye contact and stared at the floor but forced himself to maintain the Professor’s fierce glare. Grandfather had taught him to look someone in the eye, no matter what the person was saying or who it was. Not paying attention was bad manners and it seemed that his Grandfather’s teaching resonated with him.

McGonagall continued, her next words caused him to flinch, ‘I suppose you think it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?’

Alexander caught Neville’s eye and tried to wordlessly tell him that this wasn’t true. Neville looked stunned and hurt as if someone had forcefully thrown a bludger at the back of his head. Neville’s wounded expression twisted the metaphorical knife in Alexander’s chest. He knew what it must have cost his friend to try to find them in the dark, to warn them while Neville himself was scared of the dark.

‘I’m disgusted,’ chided Professor McGonagall. ‘Five students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense.’ Hermione didn’t dare glance up and she started shaking again, though smaller this time as to not signal her shame to the Professor.

‘As for you, Mr Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this,’ she glowered, then turned to Alexander who swallowed. ‘And you, Mr Laurent, I wouldn’t have expected something this rash from you. Rest assured, I will be writing to your parents and guardians about this.’

Alexander’s blue eyes widened in panic. He clenched his fists. ‘P-Professor, you don’t have t-to do that, please,’ he reasoned.

The stern Professor’s eyes flashed. ‘I’d advise you to keep quiet, Laurent, and not make it worse for yourself.’

Nails dug into his palms, but Alexander kept quiet. It seemed every time he thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. He felt horrible and it was nothing compared to what he’d feel when Grandfather would be disappointed in him.

‘All four of you will receive detentions – yes, you too, Mr Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.’

‘ _Fifty_?’ Harry gasped next to him, voice stunned.

‘Fifty points _each_ ,’ said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.

‘Professor – please – you can’t —’ 

‘Don’t presume to tell me what I can and can’t do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students.’

Two hundred points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they’d ruined any chance Gryffindor had for the House Cup. And now, his Grandfather would get a letter about it.

Alexander slept restlessly that night after they arrived in the common room. Hermione rushed ahead of them and disappeared to the girls’ dormitories without a backward look. Harry and Alexander didn’t speak at all as they scrambled into bed. Harry must not have slept through the night because Alexander could hear him shuffling when he woke up every few seconds. He dug his face deeper into his pillow as he heard Neville sobbing for what seemed like hours. He swore to make it up to his friend the next day. Neville didn’t deserve to feel like this. All he had done was to warn them and now the poor, blundering boy was reaping the same consequences as the rest of them.

He knew all of them, like himself, were dreading the dawn, though for different reasons. He could have dealt with the anger from the rest of the school, but his Grandfather’s disappointment was a thousand times worse. Though Grandfather Laurent was austere, he rarely lost his temper and when he did, it was a terrifying sight to behold. Even through a letter, Grandfather’s dissatisfaction could make him tremble.

∞ ϟ 9¾

At breakfast, a heavy bag of dread, which he carried since waking up at dawn, settled in his abdomen. He had a horrible sleep judging by the eyebags and the glint of red in his azure eyes when he looked in the mirror.

Everyone else was still asleep and he was one of the first ones to enter the Great Hall apart from a few seventh-years who rose early to revise for their NEWT exams. The Gryffindor table was empty and the wooden bench felt cold to the touch. He kept glancing up to where the owls would fly in for the mail and hoped that they would come early today, but his wish was in vain. The air remained as empty as the gold plates and goblets.

One by one, the Hall slowly filled up with yawning students rubbing their eyes. Hermione shuffled in silently and sat across from him, her form slumped as to not draw attention to herself. Alexander tried to smile at her, but it turned out feeble on his part. Neville came soon after, avoiding eye contact; he didn’t stay for long. Hermione stuffed a few spoonfuls of cereal in her mouth and then hastened out of the Hall, scurrying to avoid the frowns and angry mutters thrown her way.

Apollo flew in with a familiar screech, talons clutching a letter which he threw in front of Alexander on the table. It couldn’t have been anything else. On the white parchment was written, in curled neat writing, his full name in vivid, black ink: Alexander Frederick Laurent. With quivering hands, Alexander opened the envelope and a cold, brisk voice burst forth as if Grandfather were speaking directly into his ears. Somehow, no one else in the Hall could hear it because they didn’t even glimpse at him:

Alexander, I received a letter from Professor McGonagall late last night, and suffice to say, I am disappointed in you. This is a very shameful episode, one I would never have expected from you. Is this how you’re supposed to behave, a boy your age? Wandering around the castle at night is not befitting to someone whose last name is Laurent and who takes their responsibilities seriously. Laurents do not act like a bunch of fools who partake in folly. Did you not listen to what I said to you in September? Or did it go in one ear and out through the other? You’re not a child anymore, Alexander, and it’s time you did not act like one. Ensure this does not happen again.

The envelope was torn to pieces by itself until all that was left was a few tatters of paper in his palms. Alexander could not breathe; it felt as if someone were choking him. His heart was racing and all he desired to do was curl up into a ball. Grandfather was furious, that much he could tell. He could almost imagine Grandfather’s sharp, calculating eyes boring into his. Alexander wished that Professor McGonagall wrote to Eliot instead, but Eliot wasn’t his legal guardian. It might have been the reason he felt as if someone was crushing his whole body with their mighty fist. He had always striven to make Grandfather proud. Now, the first direct letter he received from Grandfather signalled how disappointed he was with Alexander.

It was with a slight detachment that Alexander got through the rest of the day, dragging himself from each lesson to the next, wishing evening arrived quicker so he could scamper back under his bedcovers. He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the lost points or the insults that people hurled at him through corridors, though they might have directed it at Harry instead, who walked next to him.

The other students’ fury at the loss of points was evident and affected the others significantly. Harry received the worst end of the stick, simply because of his fame and popularity. The story started to spread through the school: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, the Gryffindors’ hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other first-years. From being one of the most popular and revered people at the school, poor Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the House Cup. Everywhere Harry went people pointed and didn’t bother to lower their voices as they abused him.

‘Thanks a lot, Potter,’ they’d snarl, eyes akin to daggers.

Alexander growled, gripping his wand steady, but Harry gave him a look, shaking his head desolately.

Nia, thankfully, didn’t mock or jeer as they walked past but she did send him a dismayed look when Alexander saw her from across the Hall. His heart sank, her demeanour evoked what Eliot would look like if he were here right now. He’d never felt as worse as he did today.

Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped, whistling and cheering, ‘Thanks, Potter, we owe you one!’

Only Ron stood by them. ‘They’ll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they’ve been here, and people still like them.’

‘They’ve never lost two hundred points in one go, though, have they?’ mumbled Harry gloomily.

‘Well — no,’ Ron admitted. ‘But I’m sure it’ll pass over.’

Harry, as he told Alexander and Ron, felt so ashamed of himself that he went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team. Ron stared in horror at Harry, his mouth like a gaping fish.

‘You can’t resign,’ the redhead blurted out loudly, ‘we’ll lose the lead.’

‘I have to admit, Harry, that leaving the team would not help any of us right now,’ muttered Alexander with a grimace, ‘it might make it worse. I think the most any of us can do at this point is to keep our heads down and for you to win the final match.’

‘Don’t worry,’ remarked Harry with a tone of resignation, ‘Wood said the same thing.’ He paused for a moment, thinking, then declared, ‘we’re not spying and investigating anymore.’

Alexander couldn’t agree more. He was done getting into late-night adventures. The last thing he wanted was another letter from Grandfather or, worse, a visit from him.

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn’t have as bad a time as Harry, but nobody would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence. Alexander missed her voice in lessons confidently answering any question put forward by the Professors; he yearned for the sparkling glint in the corner of her right eye when she got the question right. Because Hermione always got it right, and although he knew the answers that she jotted down on her parchment were correct, the passion and ardent interest in her voice were captivating.

Alexander did what he had vowed to do and apologised to Neville. No one talked to Neville other than to insult him and some older years outright ignored him, regarding him as another heedless first-year who lost so many points. Neville, of course, forgave him and was grateful to have someone talk to him. He stuck to Alexander’s side and flinched often when people barged into him. It was hard to fight against the agitators when most of the school was against them.

Helen was the only person who treated them ordinarily, though it might have been due to Helen’s regular vivacious and friendly attitude. The blonde-haired Slytherin still waved, beaming, at Alexander as they both passed through the corridors and every time, Alexander’s stomach produced cartwheels that he saw her. He felt much pleasanter afterwards and Grandfather’s letter became a mere subdued echo in his brain.

Alexander was glad that the exams weren’t far away. All the studying he did, kept his mind off the letter. The group usually kept to themselves, working late into the night, striving to remember the ingredients in complicated Potions, practising spells by heart, memorising the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions.

The only way that Alexander was able to deal with the jeering and resentment of the other students’ involved the twins. Fred and George bounded up to Alexander in the Great Hall during lunch, wide, flashing grins stretched across their faces. With Grandfather’s voice still fresh in his mind, Alexander peeped up morosely at them.

‘Alright, Alexi-boy,’ greeted Fred. Alexander uttered a greeting back, head lowered onto his plate. ‘Bit down in the dumps, are we, our young protégé?’

‘I think he is, Fred, pure misery coming out of him.’

‘Can’t think why, though, Georgie. I don’t understand why a boy who has broken Hogwarts records would be down in the dumps, can you?’

Alexander blinked slowly, the twins’ words processing in his mind. ‘Y-you’re not upset with me losing the points,’ he questioned in a slow tone as if he couldn’t quite comprehend it.

‘Why would we, Alexi?’ refuted Fred, shrugging carelessly, ‘No one has lost that many points in one week which is why it’s a record.’

‘Exactly, this calls for a celebration,’ George raised a goblet and Fred mimicked him, ‘come on Alexi-boy, do it as well, raise your glass.’

Alexander gazed in wonder and, gripping his gold goblet, raised it in the air.

Fred began, ‘Today we witness the celebration of a new record, the loss of so many points in one night. Give it up for the record breakers, please!’

Fred and George cheered then gulped down their drinks. Alexander’s lips tugged up in a genuine smile, and he placed the goblet against his lips; the pumpkin juice was cool and refreshing. A warmness overtook his body and he felt happy for the first time. As he stared at the twins’ roguish expressions, he knew that he was appreciative for their friendship and couldn’t ask for better friends.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Alexander was in the library, writing down the ingredients for the Wiggenweld Potion. Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy when Harry approached them, his countenance ghastly. Harry told them what he’d overheard in an abandoned classroom: Quirrell had finally given in to Snape. Alexander’s head swiftly snapped up, his heart ceasing for a second.

‘Snape’s done it, then!’ groaned Ron. ‘If Quirrell’s told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell —’

‘Assuming Quirrell can even do one,’ interjected Alexander.

‘There’s still Fluffy, though,’ said Hermione, though her tone was sceptical and she bit her lip nervously.

‘Maybe Snape’s found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,’ said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. ‘I bet there’s a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog.’

‘You know what, Snape’s probably already got his hands on it,’ Alexander shook his head.

‘So what do we do, Harry?’ Ron asked. The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron’s eyes, but Hermione speedily answered before anyone else could.

‘Go to Dumbledore. That’s what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves, we’ll be thrown out for sure.’

‘I agree, Harry, we can’t start this again.’

‘But we’ve got no proof!’ argued Harry with a frustrated sigh, ‘Quirrell’s too scared to back us up. Snape’s only got to say he doesn’t know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor – who do you think they’ll believe him or us? It’s not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore will think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn’t help us if his life depended on it, he’s too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he’ll think. And don’t forget, we’re not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That’ll take a lot of explaining.’

‘In other words, no one will believe us,’ bluntly came Alexander’s voice. ‘The odds are against us no matter what because we’re a bunch of stupid first-years who can’t follow basic rules and are now accusing a _valued_ Hogwarts Professor of theft.’ Alexander snorted scornfully.

Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn’t. ‘If we just do a bit of poking around —’ 

‘No,’ said Alexander flatly, face set in stone, ‘we’ve done enough poking around. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to get into trouble again, so let this go. It’s none of our fucking business. Leave it for the teachers.’

He pulled a Potions textbook toward him and started reading about the Herbicide Potion. He felt Hermione’s gaze burning into the side of his face but Alexander ignored her questioning look and focused on the page’s words. They were _students_ , not Sherlock Holmes, and it was time they started acting like it.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The following morning, Apollo delivered a note to Alexander at the breakfast table. For one heart-stopping moment he thought it was Grandfather who had written again, but he realised that Neville, who sat opposite him, had an identical note. He breathed out a sigh of relief and read:

Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight.

Meet Mr Filch in the entrance hall.

Professor M. McGonagall

After all the distress and shame of the previous day, Alexander had almost forgotten that they still had detentions to do in the furore. Alexander blinked. Surely if the punishment was for being up late at night, why was their detention during the late hour? He shook his head in disbelief. This school made no sense. He half-awaited Hermione to protest about the night of studying lost, but she didn’t say a word. She felt they deserved what they’d got. They probably did but not for being up late, it was solely for their irresponsibility in forgetting the Cloak and getting caught.

At eleven o’clock that night, they said goodbye to Ron in the common room, who gave them an encouraging remark, then shuffled down to the entrance hall. Filch was already there and so was Malfoy. He’d forgotten that Malfoy had received detention, too. A wave of resentment rose in Alexander when the ferret’s face emerged as they came down the marble steps. This _enfoiré_ caused so much stress for them because he couldn’t keep his pale nose out of other people’s business. The dark-haired boy took a steady breath and approached Filch’s slimy sneer.

‘Follow me,’ said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. ‘I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?’ he leered at them. ‘Oh yes, hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me. It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ’em well-oiled in case they’re ever needed.’

Alexander rolled his eyes and felt disgust bubble at the caretaker’s words. He wished Filch would stop talking and prayed to whoever was out there that their detention wouldn’t be with Filch.

‘Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.’

They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Alexander wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something truly dreadful or Filch wouldn’t be sounding so delighted. His eyes narrowed ahead. _Hang on, this is the way to Hagrid’s hut._ Was Hagrid in charge of their detention?

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, the lighted windows of Hagrid’s hut shone like a beacon. Then they heard a distant shout.

‘Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.’

Alexander felt a twitch from the corner of his mouth. So it was with Hagrid. This wouldn’t be too bad considering. The comfort on his face must have been visible, even in the darkness, because Filch barked, ‘I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that lout? Well, think again, boy – it’s into the forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.’

Alexander snapped his blue eyes toward the distance. This was the way to Hagrid’s hut, yet it was also the way to the Forest. The pitch-black gloom of the deep trees that called out to them from the Forbidden Forest was eerie and sinister. A hoot echoed which could have been an owl or something else as well, it was hard to tell. He swallowed heavily. He had the courage and wasn’t afraid to fight but how would he fare against unknown creatures. Was this even legal? 

Next to him, Neville let out a tiny moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. Impossibly, the ferret’s face became colourless and he almost resembled one of those vampires from the storybooks.

‘The forest?’ Malfoy repeated, his pitch higher than usual. Alexander pursed his lips to stop himself from smirking. ‘We can’t go in there at night – there’s all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard.’

‘That’s your problem, isn’t it?’ replied Filch, his voice cracking with glee. 

Neville moved closer to clutch at the sleeve of Harry’s robe and made a choking noise. Worry surged in him for his friend. This must have been Neville’s worst nightmare and, not for the first time, Alexander internally cursed in French.

‘Scared, Malfoy?’ chimed Alexander.

‘I’m not scared of anything, Laurent,’ snapped Malfoy, thin, slit eyes directed into a glare.

‘You should be scared boys. Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?’

Hagrid came striding toward them, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

‘Abou’ time,’ he said. ‘I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione, Alex?’

‘I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,’ said Filch coldly, ‘they’re here to be punished, after all.’

‘That’s why yer late, is it?’ said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. ‘Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ’Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.’

Filch glared but chose not to reply to Hagrid. To be fair, the crossbow and arrows were slightly daunting. ‘I’ll be back at dawn, for what’s left of them,’ he added nastily, then turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the twilight.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid. ‘I’m not going in that forest,’ declared Malfoy, with a note of panic in his voice.

‘Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,’ rebutted Hagrid fiercely. ‘Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.’

‘But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be copying lines or something —’

Alexander hated to agree with Malfoy on anything, but he was right in this instance. The Forest was way out of bounds for a cluster of first-years and he’d take lines over this any day.

Malfoy snarled, ‘If my father knew I was doing this, he’d —’

 _There it is,_ thought Alexander with the roll of his eyes. _The mention of Daddy_. Alexander had met young children of Earls who were less arrogant than the ferret.

Hagrid interrupted Malfoy’s rant ‘— tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts. Copyin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone?’ Hagrid barked. ‘Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!’

Malfoy didn’t move. He scowled at Hagrid furiously, but then lowered his gaze.

‘Right then,’ announced Hagrid, ‘now, listen carefully, ’cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight, an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks. Follow me over here a moment.’

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Alexander swore that the path that led inwards was like the inside of a black hole, all-consuming and dangerous. Holding the lamp up high, Hagrid pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. Alexander felt a mild breeze lift the fringe of his hair as he stared into the forest, squinting.

‘Look there,’ said Hagrid, ‘see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat.’

A pool of silvery glitter lay in the centre of the path. The moonlight reflected on the blood, shimmering brilliantly, and Alexander felt a tiny twinge in his chest. What psychopath harms a unicorn?

‘This is the second time in a week,’ Hagrid grimaced, ‘I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.’

‘Twice can’t be a coincidence,’ muttered Alexander, chewing on his bottom lip.

‘Yea’, which is why we need ter find it.’

‘And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?’ shrilled Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

Hagrid’s tone was firm. ‘There’s nothin’ that lives in the forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang. An’ keep ter the path.’ He then declared, ‘Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least.’

Alexander blinked in alarm. Surely Hagrid wasn’t thinking of letting them go off alone when there was a dangerous creature? He must have because the giant’s expression was purely serious.

‘I want Fang,’ asserted Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang’s long teeth.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. Fang was the most loveable and timid dog he had seen. Small puppies had more grit than he did.

Hagrid agreed because he cautioned, ‘All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward.’

The ferret visibly swallowed and appeared as if he regretted his choice but chose to stay silent.

‘So, me, Harry, an’ Hermione’ll go one way an’ Alexander, Draco, Neville, an’ Fang’ll go the other.’

Alexander bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning. Trust his luck to be stuck with the ferret. Harry threw him a look of pity and he sighed in response.

‘Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we’ll send up red sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice now – that’s it – an’ if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh, so, be careful – let’s go.’ 

A little way in, the group reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid took the left path while Alexander, Malfoy, Neville, and Fang took the right. Hermione threw him an anxious glance before she left with Harry and Hagrid. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Alexander walked forth. The forest was black and still. Neville and Malfoy were close behind, with the chubby boy breathing deeply, while Fang stayed close to his heels.

It didn’t take long for Malfoy to speak. After a few moments of nothing jumping out at them, the ferret supposed it was safe enough to talk. Neville jumped at Malfoy’s stiff, languid voice.

‘Can you believe that oaf has got us doing servant’s work,’ he bemoaned, his feet slamming against the dead leaves with no regard for the racket he was causing. ‘Hogwarts is a joke.’

Alexander kept silent, his stare peeled on any sight of a unicorn. Now and then, a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Malfoy didn’t like being ignored. ‘I don’t know why you’re putting up with this, Laurent,’ he glared at Alexander. ‘You should be telling all this to your Grandfather. He’d quickly get that fool fired.’

‘Malfoy, _shut up_ , you whiny pale-faced rat,’ Alexander snapped. ‘I want to get this over with so I don’t have to deal with you.’

‘You had so much potential, Laurent,’ continued Malfoy, as they walked farther into the forest. The trees became thicker and the moonlight thinned out. Alexander murmured _Lumos_ and saw that the path had disappeared. Neville whimpered and walked closer to Alexander, gripping the back of his shirt. ‘Instead, you’re hanging out with Saint Potter, the Weasleys, and that _Muggleborn_.’ Malfoy spat out the last word, face scrunched up in repugnance.

‘I didn’t realise that you took such an interest in my social life, Malfoy,’ retorted Alexander. ‘Jealous, are we?’

‘Jealous?’ Malfoy gave a sneer. ‘Don’t be a fool, Laurent. I would never be jealous of you. Who’d wanna be jealous of such a —’

‘SHUSH!’

The snap of a branch in the distance caused Alexander to halt in his tracks. The rustle of the leaves grew louder and a dark shadow flashed near the corner of his eyes. Malfoy quickly fell silent and huddled closer to Fang who whimpered in fear. Neville had stopped breathing. Alexander raised his wand higher in the direction of the shadow and took a hesitant step forward.

‘What are you doing?’ hissed Malfoy in a hushed tone, a hand raised in mid-air. ‘Don’t be stupid, Laurent.’

Alexander ignored him and advanced closer, standing underneath a large tree, gawking left and right. There were no tracks in the mud; whatever or whoever had made the noise was long gone by now. He breathed a sigh of relief.

‘It’s okay. There’s nothing here. Come on.’

Neville disliked it but he followed Alexander into the dense trees, accompanied by Malfoy who did not want to be left alone. Another lake of silver blood caught his eye and this time the pool was larger. The unicorn must have been close.

Neville’s scream jolted him and he snapped around, ready to shoot off spells. But he needn’t have bothered; while he was closely observing the puddle of unicorn blood, Malfoy, it seemed, sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him as a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks. Malfoy’s callous laughter echoed loudly into the clearing. At this time of night, deep in the Forbidden Forest, the ferret had decided it was fun to scare people. Alexander could have killed him. He was close to lunging at Malfoy and flinging a fist onto those smug features when Hagrid stormed up to them. Needless to say, the friendly giant was also peeved and fuming at Malfoy’s trick.

Hagrid led them back to Harry and Hermione who nervously awaited their return behind a tree. Hermione’s face slumped in relief as she spotted him approaching them.

Hagrid’s gruff, irate tone proclaimed, ‘We’ll be lucky ter catch anythin’ now, with the racket you two were makin’. Right, we’re changin’ groups – Neville and Alexander, you two stay with me an’ Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot.’

At least he would not have to deal with the ferret anymore. Alexander’s face contorted into a sympathetic expression toward Harry. The two groups split up into different paths.

‘Found anything, yet, Hagrid?’ questioned Alexander, peering up at the giant’s form.

‘Nah, not yet. Got close, though.’

‘Hagrid, who do you think harmed the Unicorn? It can’t have been just anyone.’

‘No, not jus’ anyone. There’s summat in here that shouldn’ be.’

‘How would you know that, Hagrid?’ asked Hermione faintly. She stood rather close to the giant while Hagrid pointed a crossbow ahead, ready to shield them against anything that came their way.

‘ ‘cause you’ll be mad to try and kill a unicorn. No animal in these forests has ever attem’ted it befor’.’

Hermione fell silent. She was visibly fidgeting. Alexander nudged her and she gave a weak smile.

Suddenly, a deafening thudding of feet reverberated through the forest. It was gaining on them, close to where they were walking. Alexander’s blood chilled. He drew his wand out in front of him until a squeal tore through the forest – a familiar shout he could unmistakably recognise.

‘Wait, Hagrid, don’t shoot!’ he yelled. 

He was right and, at that second, Malfoy’s platinum blond hair shone in the moonlight, bouncing as he came sprinting toward them, mouth open in a shriek. Alexander felt horror run through him. _Harry_. Why was Harry not with Malfoy? Hermione must have thought the same because she gripped his arm, cutting off his circulation.

‘Calm yerself,’ said Hagrid to Malfoy. ‘What happ’ned?’

‘M-monster,’ shuddered Malfoy who could hardly speak properly, ‘t-there’s a monster.’

Alexander didn’t wait for a detailed explanation. Malfoy’s fear appeared genuine. Right now, there was something in these forests that could harm one of his best friends. He legged it, speeding toward the direction that Malfoy come, Hermione just behind him. He was never the fastest runner in primary school but the adrenaline was fuelling him. He briefly heard Hagrid curse then came boisterous, pounding boots after them.

‘Harry!’ he shouted. ‘Harry, where are you?’

‘Slo’ down, yer two,’ panted Hagrid.

Hermione’s scared voice sounded. ‘Alexander, look!’ She was pointing ahead, where a creature that could only be described as a centaur, like the ones in the Greek Mythology books, was approaching them with a small lump on his back. The centaur had white-blond hair and a palomino body with eyes like pale sapphires. Hermione raced toward them down the path, overtaking Alexander, Hagrid puffing along behind them. ‘Harry! Harry, are you alright?’

They stopped in front of the centaur, wheezing heavily. Hermione held onto his shoulder to steady herself.

‘Harry. . .’ breathed Alexander, concerned.

Harry had an unusual expression on his face, one Alexander couldn’t pin down. ‘I’m fine,’ said Harry. Even his tone seemed distant and mystical like he didn’t exactly know what he was saying. ‘The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s in that clearing back there.’

‘This is where I leave you,’ the centaur murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. ‘You are safe now.’ Harry slid off his back. ‘Good luck, Harry Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.’

Alexander frowned in bewilderment. Harry, however, looked worried and his face was pallid. His hand kept drifting to his forehead where his famous scar was. The mysterious centaur turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving the others shivering.

‘Harry,’ began Alexander uneasily, ‘what was that all about? What happened?’

Harry stared after where the centaur had disappeared for a few seconds then answered, ‘Come on, I’ll tell you when we get to the castle.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

When Alexander entered the dark common room with Harry, Hermione, and Neville, his stomach was a knot of tangled nerves. Ron was asleep on one of the armchairs. He must have been waiting for them to return. Neville was bleary-eyed from sleep. He bid goodnight to the rest of them and went up to the dormitories.

‘That’s a foul!’ shouted Ron in his sleep, dreaming about Quidditch. Alexander didn’t have the strength to even chuckle.

Harry roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, Ron stirred, blinking confusedly at the three of them in front of him. He became wide-eyed as Harry began to relate what had happened in the forest. Harry was a ball of anxiety. He paced up and down in front of the fire, shaking. Alexander sunk onto one of the sofa chairs, both hands grasping the armrests.

‘Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort and Voldemort’s waiting in the forest, and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich. . .’

‘It had to get worse, didn’t it?’ mumbled Alexander with a tired scowl.

Ron had other issues. ‘Stop saying the name!’ whispered Ron fearfully, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them. Harry ignored him.

‘We’re choosing to believe this, why?’ quizzed Alexander. ‘We’re supposed to take the centaurs at their word?’

‘Firenze saved me, Alexander, but he shouldn’t have done so. Bane was furious, he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen. They must show that Voldemort’s coming back. Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me. . .I suppose that’s written in the stars as well.’

‘Will you stop saying the name!’ screeched Ron.

‘Oh, will you get a grip, Ronald,’ snapped Alexander, ‘we have bigger issues than some psychopath’s name.’

Ron gaped at him as if he couldn’t quite comprehend his sheer disregard. ‘You’re completely mad, you are.’

Harry had hardly listened to the two boys. ‘So, all I’ve got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone,’ Harry spouted feverishly, ‘then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off. . . well, I suppose Bane’ll be happy.’

Hermione looked afraid. Her fidgeting had started again but she had a word of comfort. ‘Harry, everyone says Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won’t touch you.’

‘Dumbledore’s not invincible,’ voiced Alexander. ‘He’s old.’

‘He’s the most powerful wizard ever,’ countered Hermione in an astonished tone. ‘Just because he’s old doesn’t mean he’s not powerful. There was a reason You-Know-Who didn’t dare attack Dumbledore.’ Hermione jutted her nose in the air and continued to Harry, ‘anyway, I agree with Alexander; who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that’s a very imprecise branch of magic.’

‘Which means there still is a likely chance for it to come true.’

Harry gazed solemnly at him through his spectacles. Ron appeared as if he’d already started writing his speech for Harry’s funeral. Alexander prayed it wouldn’t come to that. The sky had lightened. The four went to bed exhausted, and Alexander's throat was raw from the events of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! We're almost coming to the end of this book, just a few chapters left. After this, it'll be the second year.


	15. Enchantments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated having this as two chapters instead of one long one but felt that it worked better together. So, apologies for its length. I hope you enjoy it.

The next day, Harry showed Alexander, Hermione, and Ron his recovered Invisibility Cloak. Someone allegedly had placed it on Harry’s bed last night with a note that said: Just in Case. None of them had any clue who could have sent the Cloak back to Harry. Alexander suggested that it was very likely the same person who sent the Cloak in the first place. Who, however, was yet to be uncovered. The Cloak lay untouched in Harry's trunk for at least a couple of weeks. None of the group had a chance to use it again because exams had crept upon the first-years.

For Alexander, there was no chance to consider anything except studying and exams. Much of his time was spent in the library, scouring through textbooks, remembering last-minute details for spells and recipes; stirring clockwise, adding porcupine quills for the finishing touch, flicking the wrist instead of poking. His stomach was balled up with apprehension in anticipating the first test.

Hermione’s hair became bushier when her stress levels rose and she’d murmur answers to herself, much to Ron’s disgruntlement. The redhead was much more relaxed than anyone should be when it came to exams, in his opinion, but Alexander wasn’t somebody to nag, unlike Hermione. Harry’s eyes glazed over whenever he read over his notes as if his mind were not truly focused on it. Harry appeared on high-alert constantly and snapped to attention so much as if a door slammed audibly. Alexander couldn’t blame him. He’d act the same way if he had a deranged psychopath after him as well; he half-expected Voldemort to burst through the door at any moment, wielding his wand out at Harry, but Alexander would be ready with his own wand, keen to defend his friend. Yet, the days crept by, and Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door and no Voldemorts appeared out of thin air.

The days of the exams were sweltering hot and the sun’s rays were at full blast. It was ironic – and slightly cruel according to the majority of the students in the castle who grumbled and moaned to each other and teachers each chance they received – that the few summer days the UK had were spent inside instead of soaking up the warmth. People longed to sprawl out on the grassy areas or take food outside from the Great Hall for picnics but, rather, were bogged down by the imminent tests.

Alexander did not fully mind missing the warm weather as winter was more his season. He found that in the winter he could at least manage his temperature easily by adding layers of clothing or sitting in front of the great fire in the common room. But in the summer, it seemed that no matter how many layers he removed through robes, jumpers, or unbuttoning his collar shirt, he still felt sweaty. It’d probably be simpler to completely remove his top, but Alexander didn’t fancy walking around without a shirt on because of the slight discomfort he’d feel if everyone’s eyes’ were on his bare chest. Besides, he’d probably get into trouble by Filch or Professor McGonagall.

The classrooms in which they undertook their written papers were boiling. Alexander’s skin glistened and the nape of his neck was damp. The first-years were given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell. The classrooms were quiet as quills scratched against parchment and then came the occasional flicking of paper. The desks were distanced from each other so each student had a table. Alexander’s desk was located near the middle because the assigned desks were alphabetically designated. Neville was behind him and the boy’s nerves were visibly displayed to those who sat around him.

To Alexander’s pleasant surprise, the questions weren’t as difficult as he first assumed. His Charms’ written exam was a breeze, and he must have been the first person to finish because when he placed his quill down and glanced up, the other Gryffindors were still writing. Transfiguration’s written exam was more complicated as envisioned and there were two or three questions that he wasn’t completely sure was right, but he completed enough to get a good mark.

Alexander wished Astronomy could have been first to get it over with. He trudged up the Astronomy tower, nerves bubbling in his stomach at the worry that he’d fail. Hermione cast him an encouraging smile and assured that he’d do fine. Taking a deep breath, Alexander’s mind moderately cleared; he felt much more at ease when he picked up the special quill. The exam involved the use of a telescope where they had to map the planets and stars, then label the findings on the chart. This reminded him of his Physics lessons in school where they’d learn about the planets and he was never good at science anyways. At times, Alexander felt like he was doing it wrong, yet surprisingly, he discovered that he knew more than he presumed. Hermione’s extra help had paid off, and as he persisted, the end of the exam arrived. He finished the paper with a small smile, satisfied that he had done the best he could. A weight lifted off his shoulders as his most feared subject came to an end – for now at least – and a soft relieved laugh escaped his lips as he descended the steps.

They had practical exams as well because this was a _magic_ school after all. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Flitwick beamed at him as he pointed his wand at the object and recited in a clear and confident voice, ‘ _Tarantallegra_ ’; a red glow emitted which caused the pineapple to jiggle up, down, and across the desk. Flitwick clapped at the demonstration.

‘You wouldn’t mind demonstrating a few other spells, would you, Mr Laurent?’ proposed the short Professor, ‘it would be a fantastic way to earn extra marks, of course.’

Alexander had no problem with this and felt rather pleased with his proficient display of spells. ‘Sure, Professor – what would you like me to do?’

‘If you would be so kind as to show the Levitation Charm, the Ice Jinx, and the Engorgio Charm to finish off with.’

They were spells Alexander had practised with Flitwick during their tutoring sessions. The pineapple lifted into the air with the Levitation charm; a small block of ice appeared on the desk with the second charm, and the object enlarged with _Engorgio_. Alexander felt pride erupt as he accomplished the spells and couldn’t help the proud grin from appearing nor the puffing out of his chest.

‘Oh, bravo, Mr Laurent,’ cheered Professor Flitwick, scribbling on his clipboard, ‘you may send Mr Weasley in next after you leave.’

Professor McGonagall watched him turn a mouse into a snuffbox. He visualised a gold snuffbox, one he had seen when he accompanied his Grandfather to a Baron’s estate, and his mouse turned into a small, curved snuffbox. Thankfully, his one did not have whiskers, yet he tried to make it noticeably shiny, and his spirits dampened when he couldn’t achieve that particular aspect. Professor McGonagall, however, felt that it was perfectly adequate and nodded curtly in his direction.

Snape was a pain when it came to Potions by breathing down their necks while they made a Forgetfulness Potion. Alexander wished for a Cure for Boils Potion instead, which was more doable, but Snape had to be a greasy bastard and chose not to do it. He almost added three mistletoe berries instead of the required four but remembered just as he was about to add the crushed mixture. Harry was distracted easily, and from the corner of Alexander’s eye, he saw that Harry was focused on a spot on his cauldron, rather than stirring. Snape noticed as well and had to forcefully nudge Harry as he went around the dingy classroom.

The first-years’ last exam was History of Magic, purely a written paper. It was one hour of answering questions about old wizards who’d invented self-stirring cauldrons and Emeric the Evil. After this, they’d be free for a whole relaxing week of freedom until their exam results came out. History of Magic was almost as bad as Astronomy for Alexander but not because of the context. He wrote sufficiently to ensure that he would pass the subject at least. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Alexander cheered joyfully with the rest of the Gryffindors. It was over. For their other problems, however, it was just beginning and was about to get a whole lot worse.

Alexander was so busy studying the previous weeks that he did not have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to. Most of the other boys in their dormitories thought that Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because he couldn’t sleep, but Alexander and Ron knew better. Harry whimpered in his sleep and kept shuffling every few minutes which made him guess that Harry was having a nightmare. It must have been about Voldemort, because who else was it but the old psychopath? He may not have seen whatever it was that Harry saw in the forest or have scars that burned across his forehead, but Alexander could sense that his friend was troubled, more so than usual, and it was likely about the Stone and Snape.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Alexander joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds with his other three friends after placing his book bag into his trunk. A murmur of excited voices buzzed around him and there was a wave of freedom in the air, judging by the carefree grins and mirthful laughter of the students.

Hermione’s breezy voice stated, ‘That was far easier than I thought it would be. I needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.’ Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterwards, which Alexander didn’t mind because it meant they could compare answers.

‘Yeah, I know, _Dieu merci_ the Werewolf Code of Conduct didn’t come up because I don’t know enough about that topic,’ shrugged Alexander, ‘but Emeric the Evil did come up.’

‘I hope it was the South of England he terrorised,’ Hermione chewed her lip nervously, ‘because that’s what I put down. I don’t know if the specific places were necessary. . .’

‘It should be the South, I mean it’s what I put down on my paper.’ He threw a teasing grin. ‘I didn't add the specific places, though.’

‘Okay, good,’ sighed Hermione, ‘what did you put for —’

Ron groaned aloud before she could finish. ‘Can we please stop talking about exams? You two are making me feel ill. It’s done my head in for the past two weeks and the last thing I want to talk about is more work.’

‘Alright, fine.’ Hermione didn’t look happy but acquiesced to Ron’s request.

They had wandered down to the lake, whose dark waters glimmered unnervingly, and flopped under a tree. Alexander stretched his body and flexed both his hands, feeling all the tension melt away. Being ambidextrous was beneficial in the way that he could switch to the other hand during the exams when his muscles became too stiff.

‘Ahhh,’ relaxed Ron with a lazy grin, ‘no more studying.’

‘A whole week to ourselves,’ said Alexander, back against the tree with his legs spread out in front of him. He and Ron shared a mutual half-smile.

Under half-lidded eyes which drooped with sleep, Alexander watched as the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan tickled the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. The ends of the tentacles looked slimy and curved. He didn’t have any energy to join them. Fred and George waved with mischievous leers. Alexander lazily raised two fingers in greeting.

Ron sighed contentedly, spreading his lanky limbs out on the grass. ‘You could look more cheerful, Harry, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done, there’s no need to worry yet.’

While everyone else appeared as blissful as kittens in a yarn shop, Harry Potter, meanwhile, seemed on edge as he had been for the past few weeks. Alexander turned his head to gaze with a slight worry at his friend. He doubted it was the exam results that Harry was so concerned about.

Harry was rubbing his forehead. ‘I wish I knew what this means!’ he burst out angrily.

‘It’s your scar that’s hurting, isn’t it?’ inquired Alexander knowingly.

‘It’s happened before, but never as often as this.’ Harry kneaded furiously with his palm.

‘Harry, you need to do something about it,’ Alexander rose to a sitting position, back still perched against the tree, ‘it’s obviously bothering you.’

‘Go to Madam Pomfrey,’ Hermione recommended.

‘I’m not ill,’ responded Harry in a peevish tone.

‘No, but you’re hurting,’ Alexander pointed out, ‘and that’s just a good enough reason.’

‘No, it’s something else. I think it’s a warning – it means danger’s coming. . .’ 

Ron could not get worked up, it was too hot for it. His expression was one of tranquillity when he turned his head. ‘Harry, relax. Hermione’s right, the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.’

‘Yeah, but Hagrid’s not exactly reliable,’ said Alexander, raising a hand to block the blinding glare from his eyes, wishing he had his sunglasses with him.

‘Dumbledore trusts him, and Hagrid is loyal to Dumbledore,’ said Ron resolutely, ‘I’m telling you, that Stone is safe as long as Dumbledore’s Headmaster.’

Alexander nodded, feeling too sluggish to even conceive a refute. Harry hesitantly accepted this, yet the chewing of his lip and furrowed brows indicated that Harry couldn’t shake off his lurking unease.

‘Look, there’s this weird feeling I have,’ revealed Harry, ‘like – like I’ve forgotten to do something. . . something important.’

‘Important? Like what?’ questioned Alexander in a curious tone.

‘I don’t know, that’s the thing, but it’s still there.’

Hermione gave a logical suggestion, ‘That’s just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we’d done that one.’

‘Absolutely mental, I’m telling you,’ muttered Ron with a snort of laughter. Hermione wasn’t happy with his comment that she overheard, and Alexander chuckled lightly as his two friends commenced their bickering, though it was mostly Hermione snapping at Ron while the redhead shook off her remarks.

Alexander turned his gaze skywards, to that vivid blue sky. His hands tugged at the threads of the silky, green grass. An owl fluttered towards the school, a note clamped in its mouth. He should go and visit Apollo now that his studying was over. The owl barely sent letters to Eliot for the past few weeks, because Eliot mentioned that Alexander should be concentrating more on his work than sending letters. Apollo would appreciate his visit and he could bring owl treats as well.

All of a sudden, Harry jumped to his feet, alarming the three of them and clearing the haze of half-slumber from Alexander. He caught Hermione and Ron’s startled look and the three of them dashed after Harry, who was speeding across the grassy grounds.

‘Harry, where are you going?’ asked Alexander, catching sight of Harry’s ghastly white features.

‘I’ve just thought of something,’ said Harry, rather feverishly. His tone was apprehensive which caused Alexander to sharpen his attention. ‘We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.’

‘Why?’ panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,’ explained Harry, scrambling up the verdant slope, ‘that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket?’

‘Harry, what are you going on about?’ huffed Alexander, ‘Norbert’s gone already.’ 

Harry turned his head to the side, while panting heavily, to throw a look at him. ‘You still don’t understand, Alexander? How could we have missed it? It’s so obvious.’

‘Missed what?’ demanded Hermione, her bushy hair flowing behind her as they crossed the grounds. 

‘How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law?’ explained Harry, ‘lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds towards the forest, didn’t answer. Alexander gritted his teeth and followed after his friend. _So much for a relaxing week_ , he thought. Not when one of his best friends was Harry Potter.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

‘Hullo,’ he greeted, smiling as they rushed towards him, out of breath from the sprint. ‘Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

‘No, we’re in a hurry.’ Alexander frowned at him but didn’t say anything. ‘Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?’

‘Dunno,’ replied Hagrid casually, running a hand through his beard as if in thought, 'he wouldn’ take his cloak off.’

Alexander, finally realising Harry’s train of thought, straightened in alarm at Hagrid’s remark. He shared a shocked glance with the others, then directed his blue eyes on Hagrid, not wanting to miss a word.

Hagrid raised his eyebrows at their behaviour. ‘It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head – that’s one o’ the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.’

 _Or a thief_ thought Alexander. A person who hides their face has something to hide, especially considering that it could have been one of those Dark Wizards he’s read about.

Harry sank next to the bowl of peas and closed his eyes.

‘What did you talk to him about, Hagrid?’ pressed Alexander, in a sober tone, ‘did you mention Hogwarts at all?’

‘Mighta come up,’ shrugged Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. ‘Yeah, come to thin’ of it, he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here. He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after, so I told him.’

‘All of them?’ Hagrid paused between every sentence as he was likely trying to remember. Alexander wished he’d hurry up because this was important.

‘I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon, an’ then . . . I can’ remember too well, ’cause he kept buyin’ me drinks. Let’s see . . . yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted, but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home. So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy.’

Alexander felt like groaning audibly. This was bad. Alcohol and secrets were a dangerous combination. He’d know because he’d seen Eliot cry once during a dinner party after drinking too much wine.

Harry almost looked afraid to ask the next question. ‘And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?’ Harry was trying to keep his voice calm.

‘Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go straight off ter sleep —’

Alexander dug his nails into his palms at Hagrid’s revelation. And to think that they’d been relaxing, completely unaware of this.

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified. ‘I shouldn’ta told yeh that!’ he blurted out. ‘Forget I said it! Hey — where’re yeh goin’?’

They rose from their seats and shot towards the castle without saying goodbye to Hagrid. He might have felt guilty later, but right now the Stone was the only persisting thought on his mind. The four didn’t speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds. Alexander shivered and didn’t think it was because of the draught.

‘We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,’ stated Harry. ‘Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must’ve been easy, once he’d got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn’t stop him. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?’

Alexander paused, frowning as he spun around for a sign that pointed them in the right direction. He knew every place in the castle by now apart from the Headmaster’s office. Even Fred and George didn’t know where that was and they knew most of the places, better than Filch did anyway. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him. _Where is it? It has to be somewhere in the castle._

‘We’ll just have to —’ Alexander began, but a strict voice suddenly rang across the hall.

‘What are you four doing inside?’ It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

‘We want to see Professor Dumbledore,’ stated Hermione, rather bravely, after taking a deep breath. Alexander pursed his lips to stop his smile at her courage, which Professor McGonagall would not appreciate.

The Professor stared down at them from under her curved spectacles and Alexander resisted the urge to squirm. ‘See Professor Dumbledore?’ she repeated, as though this was a very dubious thing to desire. ‘Why?’

Alexander swallowed. Now, what were they supposed to say?

‘It’s sort of secret,’ Harry said hesitantly, shifting on his feet, but it was the wrong thing to say, causing Alexander to slightly grimace. _Wrong move, Harry_ , he thought.

Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared. ‘Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,’ she informed them coldly. ‘He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.’

‘Of course, he did,’ muttered Alexander quietly, shaking his head.

‘He’s gone?’ replied Harry frantically. ‘ _Now_?’

‘Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time —’

‘Professor, this is important,’ snapped Alexander, a tad annoyed that no one was taking them seriously.

‘Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Laurent?’

His tone was stiff and unyielding, ‘Yes.’

‘I hardly doubt that. The Ministry has pressing matters that the Headmaster has to attend to. Whatever it is you want to say has to wait.’

‘Look,’ burst Harry, throwing caution to the winds, ‘Professor – it’s – it’s about the Philosopher’s Stone —’ 

It was the first time that Alexander witnessed Professor McGonagall dumbstruck. Whatever she had expected them to say, it certainly wasn’t supposed to be that. The books she carried, tumbled out of her arms, but she didn’t pick them up.

‘How do you know — ?’ she spluttered.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ dismissed Alexander, with the wave of his hand, ‘the Stone is in danger, right at this moment.’

Harry nodded. ‘Professor, I think – I know – that Sn – that someone’s going to try and steal the Stone. I’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore.’

She eyed Harry with a mixture of shock and suspicion. ‘Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow,’ she announced finally. ‘I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.’

‘But, Professor —’ 

‘Laurent, I know what I’m talking about,’ she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. ‘I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.’

Alexander watched with a discouraged heart as she walked off, leaving the four of them to glance at each other as if to say, ‘what now?’ None of them took her advice to go outside. He ran a hand through his hair. He had been doing that quite often since he came to Hogwarts.

‘It’s tonight,’ assured Harry, staring after the spot Professor McGonagall disappeared to guarantee that she was out of earshot.

Alexander rubbed a hand across his temple. ‘Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight, right? He’s going to try and get the Stone.’

‘He’s found out everything he needs, and now he’s got Dumbledore out of the way,’ agreed Harry, nodding vigorously, ‘he sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.’

‘But what can we —’ Hermione gasped.

Alexander hissed at her to be quiet. Harry and Ron wheeled round. Snape was standing there like a death omen, his black robes fluttering around his frame.

‘Good afternoon,’ Snape said smoothly.

They stared at him. _What does the slimy bastard want now?_ Did he know that they suspected him?

‘You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this,’ continued the Potions Master, with an odd, twisted smile.

‘We were —’ Harry began, but words failed him and he struggled to maintain a plausible excuse.

‘We wanted to get out of the heat,’ fibbed Alexander, as Snape’s cold, dark eyes bore into his. ‘It’s too hot.’

‘Is that right?’ smirked Snape, ‘you want to be more careful, hanging around like this, people will think you’re up to something. And Gryffindor really can’t afford to lose any more points, can it?’

Alexander clenched his jaw, and Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

‘Be warned, Potter – any more night-time wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.’ He strode off in the direction of the staffroom, cloak billowing behind him.

‘I honestly hate him,’ grumbled Alexander, ‘such as a _connard_.’ Hermione nudged him with her elbow and he carelessly shrugged.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others. ‘Right, here’s what we’ve got to do,’ he whispered urgently. ‘One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape – wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves it.’

‘Hermione, I think that’s a job more suited to you,’ said Alexander

‘Why me?’

‘It’s obvious, Snape doesn’t exactly like any of us,’ pointed out Alexander, ‘though maybe it’s not as bad as Harry. He tolerates you more than the rest of us, so you’re least likely to get into trouble.’ 

Ron nodded with a smirk. ‘You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know.’ He shifted to a high voice, ‘Oh, Professor Flitwick, sir, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong.’ Alexander snorted and tried to cover his laugh by pursing his lips as Hermione glared at Ron.

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Hermione, rolling her eyes, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

‘And we’d better stay outside the third-floor corridor,’ Harry told Alexander and Ron. ‘Come on.’

Unfortunately, their plan was doomed to fail. They made their way up to the third-floor corridor, praying not to run into any Prefect or teacher along the way. Alexander spoke too soon because as they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school, Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

‘I suppose you think you’re harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!’ she seethed.

‘Professor, we wanted to —’ Alexander tried to explain but McGonagall wasn’t having it.

‘Enough of this nonsense, Laurent! If I hear any of you’ve come anywhere near here again, I’ll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own House!’

Clenching his jaw at the unfairness of it all, Alexander walked back angrily to the common with Harry and Ron. Nobody took them seriously because they were just measly first-years.

Harry spoke up, ‘At least Hermione’s on Snape’s tail.’

Alexander and Ron nodded as they sat down on the armchair. He was too worked up to truly sink properly on the comfortable chairs which were providing anything but comfort right now. _Come on, Hermione_.

Yet, when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, Hermione came in with a despondent expression on her face. Alexander’s heart sank. That was it then.

‘I’m sorry, Harry!’ she wailed. ‘Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I’ve only just got away, I don’t know where Snape went.’

‘Don’t worry, Hermione, you tried your best,’ consoled Alexander, trying to rearrange his mouth to a comforting smile, yet he probably didn't do a good job because Hermione remained dejected.

Harry sighed, his face resigned. Alexander gulped nervously as he realised Harry’s intention, his fingers gripping the armrests so tight that his knuckles turned white. _No way is he doing what I think he’s doing_.

‘Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?’ came Harry’s hard tone. He was grey and his eyes were glittering. ‘I’m going out of here tonight and I’m going to try and get to the Stone first.’

Alexander shut his eyes and covered his face with two hands. _Oh, but Harry was_.

‘You’re mad!’ exclaimed Ron in an incredulous tone.

‘You can’t!’ cried Hermione. ‘After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You’ll be expelled!’

‘So what?’ shouted Harry. ‘Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn’t matter anymore, can’t you see?’ 

Alexander ogled, astonished, as Harry continued his speech. House points did seem very trivial compared to the bigger picture.

‘D’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the House Cup?’ barked Harry. ‘If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I’ll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it’s only dying a bit later than I would have because I’m never going over to the Dark Side! I’m going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing any of you can say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?’ He glared at them, breathing deeply after his rant.

Alexander felt weary; resignation settled in his body like the Excalibur Sword in the stone. Harry had made up his mind. There was only one path for his friend.

‘You’re right, Harry,’ replied Hermione in a small voice.

‘I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak,’ announced Harry. ‘It’s just lucky I got it back.’

‘But will it cover all four of us?’ said Ron.

For some reason, Grandfather’s cold, sharp eyes glared at him in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. This is exactly the type of folly that Grandfather warned him about in his letter. Grandfather unmistakably would not be pleased if Alexander went. Nor would Eliot, who would scold him for putting himself in a dangerous situation.

‘All – all four of us?’ Harry’s tone was one of confusion.

‘Oh, come off it,’ dismissed Ron, ‘you don’t think we’d let you go alone?’

‘Of course not,’ proclaimed Hermione briskly. ‘How do you think you’d get to the Stone without us? I’d better go and look through my books, there might be something useful, and Alexander knows some helpful spells that could help us along the way.’ The three of them turned to glance at him, waiting.

He chewed on his lip. A battle was waging in his brain. Grandfather had warned him and would most certainly punish him, possibly until he turned eighteen. Alexander didn’t want to disappoint him again. But Harry’s life was on the line. He couldn’t just abandon his friend like some heartless person, he’d never forgive himself. Hermione’s brown, soulful eyes bore expectantly into his. Harry looked pale but resolute. Alexander would be damned to see one of his best friends go alone.

‘There’s a few that might help us,’ he admitted, and Harry’s face slumped in relief. The scarred boy would never disclose it to Alexander, yet Alexander guessed that Harry was grateful. Anyone would be scared to face a psychopath on their own.

‘But if we get caught, you three will be expelled, too.’

‘Yeah, but this way we’ll go out in style at least,’ shrugged Alexander, downplaying his nerves by resorting to wit.

‘Not if I can help it,’ refuted Hermione grimly. ‘Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.’

Alexander whistled. ‘That’s impressive.’ Hermione’s cheeks turned pinkish and she gave a proud half-smile.

Harry voiced a pressing thought. ‘How are we going to calm Fluffy down? He only calms down for music.’

‘Sing, maybe,’ offered Ron.

Alexander sat up in his seat, a thought occurring to him. ‘I can somewhat play the violin,’ he confessed, and Harry’s eyes turned eagerly onto his.

‘Really? Do you have your instrument with you?’ Harry asked.

‘I do, yeah.’ He had forgotten all about his violin after coming to Hogwarts. It sat in his trunk and hadn’t been taken out since. He was going to practise but the excitement of learning magic caused him to overlook it.

‘I didn’t know you played an instrument.’ Hermione narrowed her eyes curiously at him.

Alexander shrugged. ‘My Grandfather hired a violinist to teach me since I was five. He wanted me to get a fully rounded education and playing a musical instrument was one of them.’

‘Well, that’s one of our problems solved,’ said Harry.

‘ _Dieu_ , I can’t believe the future of this school lies in the hands of four first-years,’ said Alexander in pure disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘you know, I highly doubt that safety checks are a high priority here.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

After dinner, the common room was a tense affair for the four first-years. Alexander bounced his feet restlessly on the floor and perched a hand on the side of his face, elbow bent at an angle on the armrest. His eyes kept drifting to the watch that Grandfather sent him for his birthday. Nobody bothered them which Alexander was thankful for the first time in weeks; the Gryffindors’ resentment remained active, apart from Fred and George who waved goodnight as they left to go to their dormitories.

Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. They didn’t talk much. Alexander thought about what they were about to do. This would break hundreds of school rules. They’d certainly be expelled if they were ever caught. A small fear had settled in his abdomen ever since he agreed to take on this foolhardy task. He prayed Grandfather would never discover but knew it was in vain. Grandfather would find out. He always did.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed, yawning from exhaustion. The older students, expectedly, were the last ones to leave, glancing suspiciously at the four first-years who looked too nervous to be tired. 

‘Better get the Cloak, and Alexander, remember your violin,’ Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching.

Harry and Alexander ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He grabbed the sleek, mahogany instrument from its case along with the bow. _They were doing the right thing_ , he internally reassured. There was no backing out now.

They strode down the stairs, Harry right behind him, Cloak in hand, a tad breathless. ‘Got it.’

‘Right, we’d better put the Cloak on here and make sure it covers all four of us,’ said Alexander, legs unsteady after sitting down for hours, ‘if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own —’ He was cut off by a voice that came from the corner of the room, which caused the four of them to freeze.

‘What are you doing?’ Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor, his toad, who squirmed out of his grip as though he’d been making another bid for freedom.

‘Neville,’ breathed Alexander in relief, ‘you scared us.’

‘Alex, where are you going at this time?’ Neville stared at him questioningly, and Alexander avoided looking directly into his friend’s eyes, feeling marginally guilty.

‘Nothing, Neville, nothing,’ answered Harry instead, hurriedly shoving the Cloak behind his back.

Neville stared at their uncomfortable faces. ‘You’re going out again, aren’t you,’ he concluded.

‘No, no, no,’ denied Hermione, waving her hand in circles. ‘No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?’

Alexander checked his watch. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time, Snape might already be facing Fluffy. Harry appeared irritated at the delay.

‘You can’t go out,’ complained Neville, ‘you’ll be caught again.

‘You don’t understand,’ snapped Harry, ‘this is important.’

‘Alex, don’t do this,’ Neville addressed him, his tone anxious yet pleading. ‘Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.’

‘Neville, we need to go.’ Alexander’s stomach churned uneasily. ‘It’s not about us anymore . . .’

But Neville was decidedly steeling himself to do something desperate. ‘I won’t let you do it,’ he declared, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. ‘I’ll – I’ll fight you!’

‘Neville,’ Ron exploded, ‘get away from that hole and don’t be an idiot —’ 

‘Don’t you call me an idiot! I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!’

Alexander sighed at the turn of events. Any other day he would have been delighted to see Neville standing up for himself but not right now. _This has to be the worst timing ever_.

‘Yes, but not to us,’ said Ron in frustration. ‘Neville, you don’t know what you’re doing.’ He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight.

‘Go on, try and hit me!’ said Neville, raising his fists. ‘I’m ready!’

‘Neville, don’t do anything stupid,’ warned Alexander, ‘you’re gonna get hurt.’

‘No, I won’t,’ refuted Neville, ‘come on, then – try and get past.’ Neville’s expression was determined.

Harry addressed Hermione. ‘Do something,’ he urged desperately.

Hermione stepped forward with a wand clutched at her side.

‘Woah, what are you —’ Alexander interjected, alarmed.

‘Neville,’ she ploughed on, as if she hadn’t heard him, ‘I’m really, _really_ sorry about this.’ She raised her wand. ‘ _Petrificus Totalus_!’ she cried, pointing it at Neville. Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body went rigid; he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

Alexander looked ruefully down at the frozen body of his friend, running a hand across his temple. He was so going to get a headache after this. The Body-Bind spell. It was rather effective, of course. He just wished the circumstances were different.

Hermione ran to turn Neville over. Neville’s jaws were jammed together so he couldn’t speak. Only his eyes were moving, staring up at them in horror. Alexander’s guilt multiplied ten-fold as Neville’s eyes bore into theirs.

‘What’ve you done to him?’ Harry whispered, horror-stricken.

‘It’s the full Body-Bind,’ responded Alexander miserably.

‘Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry,’ apologised Hermione, her voice near to tears.

‘We had to, Neville, no time to explain,’ said Harry.

Alexander squatted and gently patted Neville’s forearm. ‘You’ll understand later, mate. I’ll explain everything.’

He rose and they stepped over him, then pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.

Leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor left Alexander with a guilt-ridden chest. He’ll be fine. _Though Neville probably hates me now_ , he thought bitterly. In their tense state, every statue’s shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. The group held their breath so much as if a shadow lay at their feet. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs Norris skulking near the top.

‘Oh, let’s kick her, just this once,’ Ron whispered, but Harry shook his head.

‘Don’t worry, Ron, if we survive this, I’ll give her one,’ Alexander vowed.

‘You mean _when_ we survive it.’

As they carefully climbed around her, Mrs Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them but didn’t do anything. They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

Alexander managed to exhale more softly and heard his heart pumping in his ears.

‘Who’s there?’ Peeves demanded abruptly as they climbed towards him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. ‘Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?’ He rose in the air and floated there, squinting at them. ‘Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.’

Harry spoke in a hoarse whisper, ‘Peeves, the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.’

Alexander’s jaw lowered at Harry’s brilliant idea. Harry was a good imitator. He sounded just like the Baron.

Peeves agreed because the Poltergeist almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs. ‘So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr Baron, sir,’ he said greasily. ‘My mistake, my mistake – I didn’t see you – of course, I didn’t, you’re invisible – forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir.’

He stared in awe as Peeves grovelled before them, sounding apologetic.

‘I have business here, Peeves,’ croaked Harry. ‘Stay away from this place tonight.’

‘I will, sir, I most certainly will,’ concurred Peeves, rising in the air again. ‘Hope your business goes well, Baron, I’ll not bother you.’ And he scooted off.

‘Brilliant, Harry!’ whispered Alexander, and Harry threw a tiny, pleased grin.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor and the door was already ajar. Alexander did not have a good feeling about this and clutched the end of his violin, resting against his chest, tighter. The handle was cold.

‘Well, there you are,’ Harry said quietly, ‘Snape’s already got past Fluffy.’ Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all four of them what was facing them. Underneath the Cloak, Harry turned to the others. ‘If you want to go back, I won’t blame you. You can take the Cloak, I won’t need it now.’

‘No,’ said Alexander, tone obstinate. He had doubts before, but there was no way he was about to abandon his best friend now. ‘You need us.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ snorted Ron, in response to Harry.

‘We’re coming,’ said Hermione.

Harry pushed the door open. As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog’s noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn’t see them. Alexander gulped, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him like a weight train. This was all kinds of dangerous. Who knew what they’d encounter underneath the trapdoor?

‘What’s that at its feet?’ Hermione whispered.

‘Looks like a harp,’ responded Ron. ‘Snape must have left it there.’

‘It must wake up the moment you stop playing,’ said Harry, then turned towards Alexander.

‘Right then.’ Alexander took a deep breath then placed the fiddle on his shoulders with the bow held in the other hand. He decided on a tune, _Ode to Joy_ , a simple classical piece easy enough to play and appropriate for the situation. The bow and his fingers moved across the strings as a smooth tune, like silk, sounded. From the first note, the beast’s eyes began to droop. Gradually, the dog’s growls ceased – it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, deafening snores fill the chamber. Alexander didn’t dare to stop, afraid that the fierce dog would suddenly lunge and swallow them whole if they did. The dog’s snores were powerful enough to act as a breeze which blew on the four of them, raising Alexander’s hair.

‘Keep playing,’ cautioned Ron, as they slipped out of the Cloak. The four inched towards the trapdoor, with Alexander still playing the bow across the strings. The dog’s hot, putrid breath became intense as they approached the giant heads and Alexander fought the urge to gag. It wasn’t on par with the troll’s stench, but it was still repulsive.

‘I think we’ll be able to pull the door open,’ said Ron, peering over the dog’s back. ‘Want to go first, Hermione?’

‘No, I don’t!’ she hissed, quietly as to not wake the dog.

‘All right.’ Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog’s legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and opened.

‘What can you see?’ asked Harry.

‘Nothing – just black – there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop.’

‘Are you sure? There aren’t like grappling hooks on the side of the walls or something,’ voiced Alexander, eyes tensely shifting to Ron.

‘I’m sure,’ said Ron, ‘there’s no other way.’

‘Okay, then I’m going first,’ declared Harry boldly. 

‘You want to go first? Really?’ Ron turned to stare at Harry. ‘I don’t know how deep this thing goes.’

Harry was adamant that he was the first to go down. ‘Alexander is gonna have to go last so he can keep Fluffy asleep.’

Alexander motioned with the jerk of his head that it was okay for the others to go before him. Hermione glanced anxiously at him. Harry climbed over the dog’s legs and peered down through the trapdoor. He sharply inhaled at whatever it was that he saw, then lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Only Harry’s head was visible from where Alexander stood.

Harry’s features were one of firm determination, ‘If anything happens to me, don’t follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?’

‘Right,’ nodded Ron.

‘See you in a minute, I hope. . .’ And Harry let go. Alexander missed a note but didn’t think Fluffy cared enough as thunderous snores still sounded. His ears strained to hear something. Anything that would have indicated that Harry hadn’t fallen to his death and this wasn’t a stupid idea in the first place. There was a distant FLMUP. Ron peered fearfully down the trapdoor, looking for any sign of Harry.

Harry’s voice came like he was speaking through a pipe. ‘It’s okay!’ he called, ‘it’s a soft landing, you can jump!’

Alexander breathed a sigh of relief. Ron threw him a brusque nod then followed after Harry. Alexander motioned for Hermione to go and with the last bite of her lip, she jumped down.

He crept closer to the trapdoor, over the dog's legs, until he was standing underneath it. He peered down and his stomach twisted at the consuming blackness. It reminded him of the bottomless pouch Grandfather purchased on their visit to Gringotts. He prayed there was a way out for them. He sat down on the edge of the trapdoor, violin still on his shoulder, with his legs dangling over the hole. There was a feeling of vertigo that overcame him, which he ignored. Alexander swiftly threw the violin to the side, away from the dog’s grip, then plunged down just as Fluffy’s growls began to rumble behind him. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down. With an odd, muffled thump, he landed on something soft. He blinked, adjusting to the gloom, then saw the three of them sprawled around him. Massive vines, long and thick, surrounded every inch; he was sitting on a giant plant.

‘What’s this stuff?’ Ron asked to the right of Alexander.

Alexander turned his head, narrowing his eyes and exploring by lightly placing his hand on the plant, which was soft and springy. ‘It’s some sort of plant thing, I think, here to break the fall maybe.’

‘We must be miles under the school,’ noted Hermione, wonder in her tone.

‘Lucky this plant thing’s here, really,’ said Ron.

‘Lucky!’ shrieked Hermione. ‘Look at you three!’

Hermione’s sudden panicked outburst caused them to realise that the plant wasn’t as docile as they thought it to be. The vines had twisted around the hand Alexander used to touch the plant and now his hand was impossible to move from the plant's grip. No matter how hard he tugged or strained, the vines grew in length and tightened their clutches, gradually pulling him down. Terror quickly encased his throat. How the hell were they going to get out of this?

Hermione had leapt up and struggled towards a damp wall. The plant had also started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. Harry and Ron’s legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers. Hermione, fortunately, had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. She gazed in fright as the three boys fought to pull the plant off them.

‘Stop moving!’ Hermione ordered. ‘I know what this is – it’s Devil’s Snare!’

‘Oh, I’m so glad we know what it’s called, that’s a great help,’ snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

‘Stop moving! Are you insane?’ snapped Alexander, ‘this plant will drag us down and suffocate us.’

‘Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!’ said Hermione, and Alexander could see her brain working hard. The vines already spread to the upper parts of both his arms and were crawling towards his chest. In a few minutes, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. _Keep calm, keep calm_. _Don’t panic_.

‘Well, hurry up, I can’t breathe!’ Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

‘Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare . . . what did Professor Sprout say?’

‘It likes the dark and the damp –’ wheezed Alexander. Thank _Dieu_ for Neville’s book on Herbology. The pressure of Devil’s Snare was truly coming into effect now and was pressing down on him.

‘So light a fire!’ said Harry, straining his head to dodge the vines trying to wrap around his neck.

‘Yes – of course – but there’s no wood!’ Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

 _What_? That must have been one of the stupidest comments said by Hermione. Any other time, Alexander would have laughed in incredulity. Instead, he settled on a choked groan.

‘Have you gone mad?’ bellowed Ron, and rightfully so in Alexander’s opinion, ‘are you a witch or not?’

‘Oh, right!’ said Hermione with an embarrassed blush.

She whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the plant loosened its grip from Alexander's arms and chest as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unravelled itself, and Alexander was able to pull free, gulping down a breath of fresh air, which had never tasted sweeter. He joined Hermione by the wall, a droplet of sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

‘ _Putain d'enfer_!’ he breathed, light-headed, ‘that was one of the enchantments. Professor Sprout, I think.’

‘Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione,’ said Harry.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘and lucky Alexander and Harry don’t lose their heads in a crisis – “there’s no wood,” _honestly_.’ He shook his head exasperatedly.

‘This way,’ said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway.

Alexander sighed and walked towards the only way forward. ‘Let’s go and see what other _merde_ we have to face.’

‘Thanks for the positivity, Alex,’ remarked Harry.

Apart from their footsteps, the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls echoed against the walls. The passageway sloped downward the farther they walked.

‘Can you hear something?’ Ron whispered.

Alexander listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

‘Do you think it’s a ghost?’

‘I don’t think so,’ answered Alexander in a hesitant whisper, ‘sounds like wings. Birds maybe?’

‘There’s light ahead,’ said Harry, pointing with a finger, ‘I can see something moving.’

When they reached the end of the passageway, there was a brilliantly lit chamber, with its ceiling arched high. Small, jewel-bright birds, fluttered and soared overhead. A heavy wooden door stood on the opposite side.

‘It can’t be this easy,’ Alexander shook his head. ‘There’s no way.’

‘Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?’ said Ron, his gaze fixed anxiously on the birds.

‘Possibly. The birds have been charmed. Wait – this must be Flitwick’s.’

‘They don’t look very vicious,’ said Harry, ‘but I suppose if they all swooped down at once.’ He paused then decided, ‘Well, there’s no other choice. . . I’ll run.’

Alexander brandished his wand, ready to blow them away if they attacked Harry. Harry took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and sprinted across the room. Alexander expected vicious sharp beaks and claws, but nothing happened. Harry reached the door unscathed. He pulled at the handle unsuccessfully.

Alexander joined Harry with the other two. They each yanked and heaved at the door, but it wouldn’t budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora Charm.

‘Now what?’ huffed Ron.

‘These can’t be just birds for decoration,’ observed Hermione.

Alexander squinted at the flock, brows creasing in concentration. The birds glittered, reflecting light. Wait, light?

‘They’re not birds!’ Harry blurted, coming to the same conclusion. ‘They’re keys! Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean . . .’

Broomsticks hung in mid-air. ‘Yes – look!’ Alexander exclaimed, pointing, ‘broomsticks! To catch the key to the door!’

‘But there are hundreds of them!’ Ron examined the lock on the door. ‘We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle.’

‘Right,’ Alexander nodded, ‘you three try and catch the key, and I’ll stand here in case something goes wrong.’

Harry, Ron, and Hermione seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. Alexander watched, teeth gritted, as they grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one. Harry’s title as youngest Seeker in a century wasn’t for show, however, as he proved just now.

‘That one!’ Harry called. ‘That big one – there – no, there – with bright blue wings – the feathers are all crumpled on one side.’

Alexander squinted with a hand across where his forehead and scalp met. He couldn’t see very well from his position of the ground but the others must have seen the key. Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom. Alexander winced. That must have hurt.

‘We’ve got to close in on it!’ Harry yelled, ‘Ron, you come at it from above – Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down, and I’ll try and catch it. NOW!’

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upward, and Harry streaked after it. They must have missed it because Alexander heard Ron curse in frustration. Then Harry leaned forward and slammed his hand against the stone with one hand. Alexander's delight echoed around the high chamber. It did not last long. He was right before to say that something might go wrong. The other keys jolted and swiftly made a target when Harry's fingers clasped around the key, travelling towards him. Alexander did not like the look of the sharp edge of the other keys.

‘Alexander, catch,’ yelled Harry, advancing towards him.

Harry threw an object at Alexander who jumped forward to catch it before it hit the ground. He held a large silver key that had a bent wing which struggled to escape from his grasp. Hermione and Ron quickly joined him on the ground. The keys still trailed Harry who was doing his best to stop them from reaching him.

‘Hurry, Alexander,’ urged Hermione, a note of fear in her voice as she stared at Harry on the broomstick.

He rammed it into the lock and turned, breathing a sigh of relief as it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice. He pulled the door open. He motioned for the other two and they piled after him, then shouted for Harry.

‘Harry! Come on!’

Harry made his way towards the door, speeding hurriedly on the broomstick, and when he entered, Alexander quickly slammed the door shut before any of the charmed keys could follow. Harry landed and threw the broomstick towards the side, wiping the sweat off his face.

‘Well, that went relatively well,’ remarked Alexander.

In the next chamber, Alexander thought that he had suddenly gone blind for a second. It was as dark as the mythical underworld. As they took a step forward, light immersed the room to reveal an astounding sight. They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen. The pieces towered over them threateningly and were carved from black stone. Facing them, across the chamber, were the white pieces. Alexander felt so small standing there as if he were in a dollhouse. He shivered despite not feeling cold.

‘Now what do we do?’ Harry whispered.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ came Ron’s unwavering voice. ‘We’ve got to play our way across the room.’ Behind the white pieces, they could see another door.

‘How?’ mumbled Hermione, chewing her lip.

‘I think,’ said Ron after a slight pause, ‘we’re going to have to be chessmen.’ He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight’s horse. Immediately, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron. ‘Do we – er – have to join you to get across?’ The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other three.

‘You don’t think we can just walk to the door, do you?’ said Alexander weakly.

‘No,’ replied Harry, ‘it didn’t work for the keys, it won’t work here.’

‘I thought so,’ he grumbled.

‘This needs thinking about,’ advised Ron. “I suppose we’ve got to take the place of four of the black pieces.’ They watched Ron ponder. Finally, he said, ‘Now, don’t be offended or anything, but none of you are that good at chess- ’

‘We’re not offended,’ said Harry. ‘Just tell us what to do.’

‘Hmm, although Alexander might be good at chess.’ Ron turned his gaze thoughtfully at him.

‘We’ll have a better chance of winning if you guide us,’ said Alexander promptly, and Ron curtly nodded.

‘Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, Hermione, you go there instead of that castle, and Alex, you take the place of that rook.’

‘What about you?’ asked Harry.

‘I’m going to be a knight,’ proclaimed Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a rook, a bishop, and a castle, turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving four empty squares. They took their places, and Alexander watched with bated breath at the other chess pieces.

‘White always plays first in chess,’ muttered Ron, peering across the board. ‘Yes, look.’

A white pawn moved forward two squares. Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Alexander’s knees were shaky. He had a horrible discernment that this was going to be like real wizard chess. He trusted Ron’s ability, which had never before failed, but worried what would happen if one of them were taken by the black pieces.

‘Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.’

A shocking incident occurred with further hardened Alexander’s worry. When their knight was taken the white queen crushed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown. The stone pieces had shattered to the ground.

‘Had to let that happen,’ gulped Ron, appearing shaken. ‘Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.’

Ron was in his element. His eyes were bright and focused. Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy.

‘Alex, move two steps forward.’

Soon a huddle of limp black pieces slumped along the wall. He darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones. As a rook, Alexander had to wait a while until he could capture the other pieces, shifting vertically and horizontally across the board.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Ron murmured. ‘Let me think – let me think.’ The white queen turned her blank face towards him.

Alexander’s stomach plummeted, and a stone became lodged in his throat. He recognised Ron’s next move.

‘Ron! No!’ he shouted desperately.

‘Yes. . .’ said Ron, ‘it’s the only way.’

‘Don’t be so stupid, there’s has to be another strategy.’

‘What’s he talking about?’ demanded Harry.

‘I’ve got to be taken,’ answered Ron softly, causing Alexander to shut his eyes. 

‘NO!’ Harry and Hermione shouted.

‘Ron, this is fucking absurd! Don’t do it.’

‘That’s chess!’ snapped Ron. ‘You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I’ll make my move and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!’

‘But – ’ protested Harry.

‘Do you want to stop Snape or not?’

‘Ron –’

‘Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have the Stone!’

Alexander's fear had come true. There was no alternative. He had to watch one of his friends being taken while he uselessly stood there.

‘Ready?’ Ron declared, his face white but resolute. ‘Here I go – now, don’t hang around once you’ve won.’ He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor. Alexander bit the inside of his tongue to stop his cry, hard enough to slightly draw blood. Hermione shrieked but stayed on her square. The white queen dragged Ron to one side. Alexander hoped that Ron was just unconscious. He willed himself not to think too much of it. _Ron will be fine_.

‘Go on, Harry,’ he pressed, ‘we’re still playing.’

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left. The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry’s feet. They had won. With a price, however. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear.

Alexander couldn’t look at Ron, because if he did, he would allow the horror to consume him, which was the last thing he wanted. He needed to keep a level head to get through this ordeal. The remaining three friends charged through the door and up the next passageway.

Hermione’s voice expressed their worry, ‘What if he’s – ?’

‘He’s fine, just knocked out,’ Alexander stated firmly, a tad bit trying to convince himself. They had reached another door. He was starting to become jaded with all the doors they had to go through and was close to blasting it off its hinges. _Calm down_.

‘We’re close, I can sense it,’ said Harry, and pushed the door open. A repulsive smell filled their nostrils. Alexander pulled his shirt up to his nose, trying not to breathe too deeply. Eyes watering, he spotted, flat on the floor in front, an unconscious troll with a bloody lump on its head. It was larger than the one they had fought during Halloween.

‘Let’s thank our lucky stars we didn’t have to fight that one,’ Alexander uttered, as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs.

Harry nodded, face rather green. ‘Come on, I can’t breathe.’ Harry pulled open the next door.

Alexander held his breath at what they would encounter next. His muscles were tensed and he gripped his wand securely in case something jumped out at them. But the next room was very distinct from the others. There was a wooden, rectangular table like the ones during medieval feasts yet this one was relatively small. Seven oddly shaped bottles stood on the table in a line.

‘What do we have to do?’ said Harry.

‘Something to do with those bottles,’ answered Hermione, eyes narrowed on the objects.

The three stepped over the threshold, and instantly a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn’t a common fire either, as its flames were purple. Black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward.

‘Great, now we’re trapped,’ groaned Alexander.

‘Look!’

Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry and Alexander looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione let out a great sigh, widely smiling, which seemed out of place after all that had occurred.

‘Brilliant,’ marvelled Hermione.

‘You know what to do,’ said Alexander, with a knowing tone.

‘Yes, this isn’t magic – it’s logic – a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here forever.’

‘But so will we, won’t we?’ frowned Harry.

‘Of course not, have a little faith, Harry, we have the most logical person we know with us.’ Alexander tugged his lips up with a minuscule smirk.

‘Everything we need is here on this paper,’ explained Hermione. ‘Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple.’

‘We have to figure out which drink is the right one.’

‘But how do we know which to drink?’ asked Harry.

‘Give me a minute.’ Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles.

Alexander grabbed the paper from her and read the riddle again. ‘ _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides_ ,’ he quietly uttered. ‘Death. . . poison, dwarf – giant.’ He chewed his lip for a few seconds. ‘Hermione, I don’t think the biggest or the smallest bottle is poison.’

‘Yes, I thought so,’ she nodded without taking her eyes off the bottles, ‘and the first bottle cannot be a wine.’ She muttered to herself and pointed at the bottles. At last, she clapped her hands. ‘Got it,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire towards the Stone.’

The tiny bottle was curved with the bottom half jutting out and the top half went inwards. Liquid swirled inside the faintly transparent, purple glass.

‘There’s not enough for all three of us,’ discerned Harry. They all looked at each other. ‘Which one will get you back through the purple flames?’

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

‘You drink that,’ said Alexander. ‘I'll go with Harry. One of us has to.’ Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Harry cut her off.

‘No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms, they’ll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy, go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. Even if the two of us might be able to hold Snape off together for a while, we’re not powerful enough for him, really.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Hermione appeared worried. ‘But Harry – what if You-Know-Who’s with him?’

‘Well – I was lucky once, wasn’t I?’ hesitated Harry, pointing at his scar. ‘I might get lucky again.’

‘Who knows, you might get a matching one on the other side as well,’ said Alexander wryly.

‘Make it equal, right?’ weakly smiled Harry.

Hermione’s lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

‘Hermione!’

Alexander suppressed a smile at Harry’s flustered face.

‘You’re both great wizards, you know.’

‘She’s right, as always,’ nodded Alexander.

‘I’m not as good as her,’ said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

‘Me!’ said Hermione. ‘Books! And cleverness!’

‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ Alexander informed, giving her a look, ‘they’re good too.’

‘But there are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh!’ She turned to envelop Alexander into a hug, catching him off guard, and muffled into his shoulder, ‘You’ll both be careful, won’t you?’

‘We’ll be okay,’ he said awkwardly. Her hugs always unnerved him at first but it was starting to become familiar to him.

She leaned back, her eyes glistening.

‘You drink first,’ motioned Harry. ‘You are sure which is which, aren’t you?’

‘Positive,’ sniffed Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end and shuddered.

‘What’s wrong?’ hastily demanded Alexander, worried that something had happened. ‘It’s not poison?’

‘No, but it’s like ice.’

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t hurt.

‘Quick, go before it wears off,’ said Harry. 

‘Good luck – take care –’

‘Go!’

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire. It was unnerving to witness the flames enclose around her yet not once did Alexander hear a cry escape her lips.

Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames. ‘Ready?’ He threw a taut yet courageous look at Alexander.

Sounding braver than he actually felt, Alexander took a deep inhale then bobbed his head. ‘Let’s get the greasy bastard.’

‘We have to go immediately after we’ve swallowed in case the Potion wears off in seconds,’ said Harry.

‘Good idea.’

Harry tipped his head back and shivered as he swallowed. He gave the bottle to Alexander then walked straight through the flames. Alexander drained the remaining concoction in one gulp. Hermione hadn’t been lying: ice flooded every inch of his body as if it were travelling rapidly through his veins. Placing the bottle down, he marched forward, bracing himself for the scorching pain despite what he had perceived. Yet, there was nothing. He felt nothing as the black flames licked his body. For a moment there was only dark fire then he was on the other side, in the last chamber. Harry stood with his back to him; Alexander knew Harry’s mien would be one painted with horror and disbelief. Because in front, on the opposite side, there was someone standing, waiting, probably for Harry. But it wasn’t Snape, nor was it the psychopath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far. There are only one or two more chapters until this book is finished.


	16. Encounters

A man stood, his posture tall and his features hard, the complete opposite to the usual quivering, fearful look Alexander saw around the castle. This can't be true. There was no way. But no matter how much he wanted to deny, the man with the purple turban and cold eyes was not a figment of his scared imagination; he was there and he was solid. Alexander was frozen, mouth parted and eyeballs bulging. Thankfully, no one heard his hushed steps enter as Quirrell was too focused on Harry to spot him.

‘You!’ gasped Harry, stunned into disbelief.

Quirrell smiled. A small shiver crept up Alexander’s spine, yet he held it at bay. Quirrell’s smile was hollow and promised something ominous, which he hoped they would never find out. His face wasn’t twitching at all. ‘Me,’ he stated calmly.

The weight of his wand gripped tightly around his fingers offered Alexander a little courage. He had to do something and quickly before Quirrell harmed Harry. He may not cause any permanent damage but perhaps he could stall Quirrell before he got the chance to hurt Harry, at least until Dumbledore arrived. Heart leaping up to his throat, Alexander wielded his wand and yelled, voice steadier than he expected it to be, ‘ _Flipendo_.’ He heard Harry shout his name in alarm in the background. A vibrant blue light radiated and streaked towards Quirrell, but before the spell could strike the target, the Professor was swift to react: he blocked the light and spun his head to stare straight back at Alexander with his vacant, dark spheres. Alexander cursed softly, gritting his teeth.

‘Laurent!’ bellowed Quirrell, face twisted into a nasty look. ‘I should have known you'd also be here. Trying to use the spell _I_ taught you against me, are you?’

Quirrell threw an unfamiliar golden light at Alexander, which the latter was keen to dodge, unwilling to know of its effect. His blood was on fire, and he was disconnected from everything but the ever-present sound of his drumming heart.

The next spell he was not so lucky to evade, however. Quirrell smirked cruelly and snapped his fingers. Ropes appeared out of thin air and speedily swathed around his body before he could move his limbs. The ropes were painfully clamped across his chest, pressing down and making it harder to inhale. Quirrell guided his hand and Alexander felt an invisible force pushing him to his knees. It seemed as if the ropes were alive, having a mind of their own.

‘Let him go!’ shouted Harry furiously, ready to rush towards Alexander until Quirrell pointed his forefinger.

‘Move, Potter, and your friend will get worse – it's up to you.’

Harry threw a hopeless look of desperation at Alexander, who gestured with a shake of his head to not move. Quirrell could harm Harry and that was the last thing he wanted. _Keep stalling_. _Keep stalling_. Dumbledore will be here soon. Quirrell threw another spell at him, one that felt as if a giant fist had slammed into his chest and he found it hard to breathe for a second. He gasped for air, chest expanding. Quirrell still kept his composure as Harry glared at him with hate-filled eyes.

‘I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter.’

‘It-it was you, wasn’t it?’ wheezed Alexander, rather difficultly, still feeling the effects of the conjured fist, ‘you tried to steal the Stone from Gringotts.’

'Precisely,' smiled Quirrell, a jagged chuckle erupting from him, 'how clever of you to realise.'

Harry paled. 'But I thought – Snape —'

'Severus?' Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his customary quaking treble, either, but empty and sharp. It echoed around the chamber, raising the hairs on the back of Alexander's neck.

Alexander swallowed to mask his fear. He shared a look with Harry so briefly that even Quirrell didn't seem to notice. _The Stone_. _Where was the Stone?_ Quirrell didn't have it in his hand, which was one blessing at least.

'Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he?' continued Quirrell, hands crossed below his abdomen, 'so useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?'

He clenched his jaw. The stuttering appeared to grate on his nerves now that they had discovered the Defence Professor's motive. No wonder Quirrell had managed to fool the whole school into believing him to be a timid, trembling Professor who appeared frightened of his shadow. He'd be the last person anyone would suspect. Alexander sharply inhaled. _Except for Snape._

Harry looked uncertain. He didn't want to believe that it was true. 'But Snape tried to kill me!'

'No, no, no,' Quirrell remarked, 'I tried to kill you.'

And there it was. The harsh, bitter truth they had all missed apparently.

'Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom.

Alexander choked out a laugh which became audible to Quirrell. 'How very sad.'

Quirrell tensed then proceeded to use the fist spell again, this time against his stomach. He groaned painfully in response, his muscles crying out in pain.

'Stop it!' called Harry, with a note of panic. 'You're hurting him!'

'Don't worry, Potter, the boy will die, right after you,' Quirrell promised darkly then frowned, 'I'd have managed to kill you before Miss Granger shoved into me if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you.'

'Snape was trying to save me?' Harry's voice trailed off.

'Of course,' said Quirrell coolly. 'Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really, he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching.'

Alexander smirked, enjoying Quirrell's frustrated tone. 'Bet Snape suspected you. Couldn't get your way.' He struggled to speak fully and decided on small sentences. He couldn't waste his breath like that. He needed his strength for some way to stop Quirrell after he figured out these inescapable ropes. He squirmed to see if they had a weak spot.

Quirrell scowled fiercely, 'Annoyingly, he did suspect me, from the very beginning. Yet, all the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning during that match, he did make himself unpopular and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight, Potter.'

'Only over my dead body,' gasped Alexander, breath thin and ragged.

'That can very much be arranged, Laurent,' barked Quirrell, an ugly expression directed at Alexander, but stopped suddenly as if he were heeding someone else, though there was no one there in the chamber with them. Unfortunately. Dumbledore needed to hurry up.

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Similar ropes that bound Alexander sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves strongly around Harry.

'Let him go!' snarled Alexander, lunging towards Harry, who strained a few metres to the side of him, and attempted to crawl. Quirrell's spell must have been strong because the ropes strengthened and, as if they had hands, its grip restrained and pulled Alexander back to his knees, which were probably bruised by this point. He winced as they crushed against his chest.

Quirrell ignored him, believing him to be a nuisance. 'You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone.'

'So, that was your fault as well?' said Alexander, glaring viciously, the tension from the ropes momentarily forgotten. He and his friends could have almost died from that troll. Now he knew who to blame.

'Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, as Laurent pointed out, went straight to the third floor to head me off.' Quirrell scowled, his face strangely overshadowed by the large turban. 'Well, not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.'

'Gonna fail again, Quirrell,' he taunted. If Quirrell focused on him rather than Harry, maybe then he can prolong Harry's limited time.

Quirrell closed his eyes and again ignored him. 'Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.'

Only then did Alexander realise the huge mirror frame that Quirrell stood in front of. But it wasn't just any standard mirror. The gold and high arch glimmered even from here. The Mirror of Erised hadn't changed one bit and it perched threateningly from behind Quirrell. What was Quirrell doing with the mirror? It was the Stone he obviously desired.

'This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,' Quirrell murmured, answering Alexander’s unspoken question, tapping his way around the frame. 'Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this, but he's in London. I'll be far away by the time he gets back. . .'

'I saw you and Snape in the forest —' Harry blurted out, jolting Alexander from watching Quirrell.

'Yes,' replied Quirrell idly, striding around the mirror to look at the back. 'He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side. . .'

Alexander snapped his wide eyes around. It was the first instance that Quirrell had mentioned his master. Quirrell had confirmed what Harry had suspected all along. Voldemort was going to get his hands on the Stone with the help of his lapdog, Quirrell.

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared with unabashed hunger into it. His stare was worse than Harry's during Christmas and Alexander couldn't fight a tiny shudder. 'I see the Stone . . . I'm presenting it to my master . . . but where is it?'

'But Snape always seemed to hate me so much,' argued Harry.

'Oh, he does,' retorted Quirrell casually, 'heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead.'

'But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing – I thought Snape was threatening you.'

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face. It couldn't have been Snape's threats that Quirrell feared just then. 'Sometimes,' he slowly admitted, 'I find it hard to follow my master's instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak —' 

'Your master?' gulped Alexander, 'he was there?' How could Voldemort have entered the castle?

'He is with me wherever I go,' stated Quirrell quietly. 'I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.'

'You're insane!' he spat. The knotted ropes were becoming looser as Quirrell was focused on the mirror.

'I have been the most loyal to him. I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me.' Quirrell quivered, terror appearing as quick as a blink, then disappearing. 'He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me and decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me.'

Alexander's stomach churned unpleasantly. Quirrell kept talking about Voldemort, but he wasn't even in the chamber. Was he elsewhere, waiting for Quirrell to retrieve the Stone and bring it to him? It had to be that because there was no sign of anyone else.

Quirrell cursed under his breath. 'I don't understand, is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?'

Alexander paralleled Harry's panicked expression, though he was trying hard not to show it as it would not help them in any way. The boys mutually agreed on one thing. They had to find the Stone before Quirrell did. But how? Are they supposed to look in the mirror? Does the frame hold the Stone instead? His mind was racing. They had to get to that mirror without Quirrell noticing and right now it seemed like an impossible task. He tried to shuffle forwards on his knees, which were now aching, but the ropes pulled him back for the second time. Alexander cursed, feeling completely useless. He felt like crying from frustration. Why did he not know more spells? One that could aid him out from these ropes. Or one that could help him and Harry.

Harry had tried to edge to the side and instead tripped over his feet onto the floor. Alexander glanced over. Harry was still fine, though his glasses were nudged sideways on his nose.

Quirrell ignored Harry's fall. He was still talking to himself. 'What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!'

A voice sounded in the chamber, one that did not sound human-like. Alexander froze, shock overtaking his body and causing his mind to short-circuit. Voldemort was there in the chamber but they couldn't see him. The voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. 'Use the boy . . . use the boy . . .'

Quirrell rounded on Harry. 'Yes – Potter – come here.' He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry steadily rose to his feet. 'Come here,' Quirrell repeated. 'Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.'

Alexander could do nothing but watch in horror as Harry had no choice but to walk towards Quirrell. _Come on, Harry_ , he desperately pleaded. _You have to lie_. _Lie about what you see_. Harry reached Quirrell and stood in front of the mirror. Quirrell moved close behind him. The mirror reflected Harry to where he knelt. He heard Harry sharply inhale and scrunch his nose in revulsion as Quirrell leaned over him. Alexander viewed Harry's pale and petrified expression; then Harry's eyes widened after a few seconds as if he'd seen something in the mirror. _Please, lie_. Was it the Stone? Did Harry figure some way out to get it?

'Well?' demanded Quirrell impatiently. 'What do you see?'

Harry rose to answer, voice shaking somewhat. 'I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore. I- I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor.'

 _Yes_. He hoped Quirrell would believe Harry.

Quirrell cursed again. 'Get out of the way,' he shoved and Harry stumbled aside.

Harry stared uncertainly at Alexander. This was his chance. _Run_ , Alexander mouthed. But Harry hadn't even walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips. It was a voice he never wanted to hear again. 'He lies . . . he lies . . .'

Their hopes were dashed. Alexander’s heart sank while his shoulders slumped. Despite the ropes being looser, their strength remained, still holding him in place. 

'Potter, come back here!' Quirrell shouted. 'Tell me the truth! What did you just see?'

The high voice spoke again. 'Let me speak to him . . . face-to-face. . .'

'Master, you are not strong enough!'

Master? There was a terrible creeping sensation at the back of his neck. That turban couldn't have just been a simple turban. If the voice were coming from Quirrell then there was only one place it could have originated. He saw his wand, which he had dropped when Quirrell bounded him, a couple of inches from where he was kneeling. His hands flexed. If he could just reach. . .

'I have strength enough. For this.'

Horrified and wand forgotten momentarily, Alexander gawked as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. He hardly dared to breathe. The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked oddly tiny without it as if his head would drop off and roll away. Then Quirrell slowly veered on the spot.

Alexander bit his tongue hard to halt the shocked scream that longed to burst out from his throat. It was a face out of a nightmare, repulsive and ugly-looking. At the back of Quirrell's head, merged a strange face. The chalk whiteness and glaring red eyes were very unnerving. He had heard of purple or different coloured eyes but never red ones. Then his gaze fell on the middle of the face and Alexander stared. And stared some more. Because where a nose should have been, was slits for nostrils, like a snake. It was the ugliest looking face he had ever come across.

'Harry Potter . . .' the face whispered.

Harry's slight shaking body indicated just how petrified he was. Both boys were too afraid to even speak.

'See what I have become?' the face said. 'Mere shadow and vapour. I have form only when I can share another's body, but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds. Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past few weeks. You saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own. . . now . . . why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?'

Alexander felt a jolt through his body. So Harry already had the Stone. He couldn't figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Harry was ghastly white as he stared unblinkingly at Voldemort. He stumbled backwards.

Alexander swallowed with difficulty, the pebble in his throat growing larger, moistening his mouth enough to holler, 'Don't give it to him, Harry!'

Voldemort's blood-red circles shifted to him, and Alexander felt a frisson of terror. He started to automatically tremble. 'Ah, yes . . . Alexander Laurent. Aiding Harry Potter when you should be helping me instead.'

Confusion and indignation emerged from the drowning fear. Why would he help a noseless psychopath? Was Voldemort delusional as well as a murderer?

'A boy with your talents deserves greater,' uttered the face, 'I could help you achieve greatness, yes . . . Antoine, your Grandfather, I believe, understood that power makes you strong . . . I can help you harness that potential . . . if you join me.'

There was a ringing in his ears. Harry had somehow faded into the background and Voldemort's cruel, twisted features shone at the forefront.

'Alex, don't listen to him!' shouted Harry, and Alexander turned numbly to Harry's frantic face. It was as if someone had turned on the TV and raised the volume.

'Don't be a fool, Harry Potter,' growled the face. 'Both of you should join me. Better save your own life . . . or you'll meet the same end as your parents. They died begging me for mercy.'

'Liar!' Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was shuffling backwards so that Voldemort came closer to Harry. The monstrous face was now smiling, which was disturbing. 'How touching,' it hissed. 'I always value bravery. . . yes, boy, your parents were brave. I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight, but your mother needn't have died. She was trying to protect you. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.'

'NEVER!' Harry sprang to run towards the flame door, but Voldemort screamed, 'Seize him!'

Alexander shouted and grappled with the ropes, which were now the tightest they had been, as Quirrell somehow flew in the air, without a broomstick. He gasped, the strands twisting his upper body like an elastic band. Quirrell grabbed Harry's wrist, then wrapped thick arms around Harry’s narrow neck. Harry let out a loud cry of pain, one hand clutched at his scar. Alexander's heart stopped. Harry's scream was terrifying and haunting. He struggled with all his might, trying to reach his wand, as sobs tore out of him. He saw Quirrell's hand flex, tightening and choking the life out of Harry. _No_. _No_. _No_. Harry couldn't die.

All of a sudden, Quirrell let go of Harry and wailed, hunching over in pain. What had just happened? Alexander saw Quirrell's burned, raw, red, and shiny hands. He quelled down his gag reflex, bile settling in the back of his throat.

'Seize him! SEIZE HIM!' shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck.

Alexander realised that the ropes had fallen around his feet, limp and asleep. Quirrell had lost focus due to his suffering, and Alexander could finally move again. He quickly snatched up his wand, seeming like an old friend, and without hesitating bellowed, _'Expelliarmus_.' The red glow slammed against Quirrell and threw him back several metres, away from Harry. Quirrell was howling in agony, but he didn’t know whether it was due to his spell or his blistering hands.

Alexander staggered towards Harry, whose face was scrunched up in pain. He helped his friend up from the floor, slinging an arm around his shoulder. 'Come on, Harry. We need to go.'

Harry could barely speak due to his scar. He must have heard Alexander because he nodded weakly. They hobbled towards the door. Alexander's chest, stomach, and knees cried out in protest. He was rapidly losing sight, his vision becoming hazy. He had to blink to remove the black spots appearing behind his eyes. _Not now_. _Not now_. They had to keep moving. The door was right there.

'Master, I cannot hold him,' wailed Quirrell, behind them, 'my hands – my hands!'

'Then kill him, fool, and be done!' screeched Voldemort.

A gust of air crashed into Alexander, so strong that it lifted him off his feet and blasted him away from Harry. Quirrell had thrown a spell at him. He fell on his front and wasn't quick enough to stop his fall with his hands. His nose smashed on the marble floor. Sharp pain exploded and a flood rushed out of his nose like a waterfall. Red stains soaked into his shirt. Alexander groaned but couldn't afford to concentrate on himself right now. Not when Quirrell was about to kill Harry. Panicky, he whirled around, grateful that his wand hadn't snapped in the fall. Quirrell was shrieking, whatever he had left of his hands was running across his head. That's when Alexander realised that Quirrell couldn't touch Harry without suffering terrible pain.

'Harry, grab him!' he cried, straining up on his feet.

Harry surged, caught Quirrell by the face, and clung as tight as he could. Quirrell's shrieks resounded and Voldemort repeatedly yelled, 'KILL HIM! KILL HIM!'

Someone entered the chamber with a white beard, half-moon spectacles glinting in the glowing flames. Alexander was so relieved he could have wept. Dumbledore made a beeline for Harry and Quirrell, just as he let go. Harry collapsed and Dumbledore caught him before he could hit the floor. Quirrell was barely even human, his whole skin was blistered and he slumped, like a plank of wood, onto the floor with a thud. Bliss overcame Alexander. Quirrell was finally dead.

'Harry! Harry!' he called, shuffling unsteadily towards his friend.

'Alexander, be very careful not to strain yourself,' warned Dumbledore.

'You came. I thought . . . too late.'

He didn't hear Dumbledore properly. His vision was becoming worse and his head woozy as Dumbledore kept repeating his name.

'We need . . . to go to the . . . hospital wing,' he spoke faintly. Then, he knew nothing and fell down, down, down to an enveloping blackness.

∞ ϟ 9¾

His arms were too heavy as if stacks of weights were lined up along his arm. He gradually cracked his eyes open and was faced with golden-spun hair at the end of the bed opposite his. He blinked at the bright light that greeted him. His chest didn't hurt anymore and he could breathe easily. His mouth, however, was dry. He groaned and draped an arm across his forehead. 

Helen's startled face was looking at him, a mop handle in her hands. A hospital apron, similar to the one Madam Pomfrey wears, was worn over her Slytherin robes. 'You're awake,' she said, tone high from surprise. 'I'll fetch Madam Pomfrey.' She hurriedly scurried off.

The white walls and the linen bed sheets in a row indicated that he was in the Hospital Wing. He turned his head to the side and there, resting unconsciously against one of the beds, was Harry. The sight of Harry's inert body brought everything rushing back. He sat up swiftly as Madam Pomfrey approached him, a Potion held in her hand.

'Mr Laurent, lay back down,' she snapped then asked more evenly, 'how are you feeling?'

'I'm fine,' he shrugged, telling the truth. He did feel okay. His body didn't ache anymore from Quirrell's spells and his chest rose and fell normally.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look as if she believed him. 'Heavens, you had a nasty injury, Laurent. Your lungs were slightly pressed in. It's a wonder you could even breathe at all.'

Alexander ran a restless hand through his hair. Quirrell must have used some Dark spell. Those ropes weren't just mere, everyday ropes. 'Is Harry alright?' he inquired, eyes shifting anxiously to his friend.

'Mr Potter is recovering – he'll be fine,' replied a distracted Madam Pomfrey, inspecting him. She ran her wand over him then checked the green light that appeared. 'Drink this, Mr Laurent.' She handed him a glass of milky substance and Alexander knew better than to argue with her formidable nature. Surprisingly, it didn't taste as bad as it looked. The dryness of his throat faded and he felt refreshed.

'Can I go now?' he requested, hoping to find Ron and Hermione. He never liked hospitals. It was restricting and claustrophobic.

'You need rest,' she advised sternly. 'Besides, you can't leave, not until the Headmaster has seen you.'

He wasn't thrilled but lay back against the headrest, waiting, as Madam Pomfrey left. How long had he been here? Did Harry still have the Stone? Were Ron and Hermione okay? Quirrell was dead, he knew that for certain; the Defence Professor's body had just stiffly flopped to the floor. The only thing he wasn't sure of was Voldemort. Alexander doubted the noseless psychopath had died yet couldn't help hoping that he had.

He was broken out of his reverie when Dumbledore approached, white beard trailing down to his chest, but he wasn't alone. Alexander's breath hitched as Grandfather Laurent marched behind the Headmaster, face unreadable as his eyes pierced into Alexander. His heart race increased. They stopped below his bed, Grandfather's arms crossed behind him.

'Hello, Alexander. How are we feeling?' Dumbledore smiled encouragingly, eyes twinkling.

He shrugged, hardly able to speak with Grandfather's presence. Was Grandfather here to punish him? 'I'm okay,' he answered.

Dumbledore's twinkling became more prominent. 'I'm glad to hear it. Your Grandfather was certainly worried. He's been waiting for quite some time to see you,' he chuckled good-naturedly.

Grandfather mumbled something under his breath, which Alexander couldn't make out, with a bitter side-glance at Professor Dumbledore.

'How long have I been here?' he rasped.

'Simply a few hours,' replied Dumbledore.

Alexander sighed. It wasn't as bad as he thought. 'Sir, Professor Dumbledore, sir, the Stone —'

'Is no longer an issue,' interjected Dumbledore, tone firm behind his pleasant one, 'don't worry yourself about it any longer. The Stone will be destroyed.'

'Destroyed?' repeated Alexander blankly. 'But – but that means your friend – Nicolas Flamel —' 

'Ah, found out about Nicolas, did we?' Dumbledore sounded quite pleased. 'All four of you did the thing properly, didn't you? Wonderful.'

Grandfather cleared his throat and gave Dumbledore a pointed look, lips pursed. Alexander quickly shifted his eyes back to the Headmaster before the look came to rest on him. He dreaded the moment he would have to be alone with Grandfather. 

'Yes, well, I convinced Nicolas, and we agreed it's all for the best. He and his wife have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then they will die. You know, the Stone was really not such a great thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of precisely choosing those things that are worst for them.' 

Alexander chewed his lip then asked, 'Professor, Voldemort's still out there, isn't he? And he's going to come after Harry again.' 

Grandfather stiffened, his stare sharpening.

'Dumbledore's eyes dimmed somewhat. 'Yes, he is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share,' said Dumbledore, staring out of the Hospital window gravely, 'his return was merely delayed.' The twinkling returned as he turned back to Alexander. 'Now, I suggest you get some rest before you meet your friends. Friendship is a tremendous thing to behold.' Dumbledore smiled. 'As you were, Antoine . . .' He walked out of the Hospital Wing, Grandfather staring after him with a frown.

Alexander's stomach plummeted. He'd been dreading this and couldn't bring himself to lift his eyes to meet Grandfather.

'I thought I specifically made myself clear in the letter,' came Grandfather's stern voice. He stood there, whiteish-blond hair slicked back, attired in his usual form-fitted suit, a black one this time. 'What on earth were you thinking? This was beyond stupid, Alexander, it was downright senseless. You should have left it to the adults. I have half a mind to take you home with me right now.'

Alexander squirmed, fists clenched from under the bedsheets. He wanted to argue. To rave that he and his friends had tried to even though no one would believe them. But he kept silent.

'But, as much as I hate to admit . . . it was also brave.'

Alexander snapped his head up in astonishment and met the rare, mini half-smile etched on Grandfather. 'H-how did you find out?' he asked hoarsely.

'The watch I sent you – the one you're wearing right now – it warns me when you're in danger.'

'It's charmed?'

Grandfather furrowed his brows. 'Not exactly. It is a family heirloom, passed in our family for generations, but it also counts as protection. Because it has your name engraved, the watch protects only _you_ ,' he stressed. 'How else do you think Quirrell couldn't manage to fully suffocate you with the ropes?'

Alexander felt sick. He glanced at the watch around his wrist. He could have almost died.

'It doesn't completely protect you,' warned Grandfather, 'so, please, be _careful_.'

He slowly nodded and began to fidget, gaze falling to his sheets. Now that Grandfather was here, his mind was blank. All the things he wanted to ask flew out of his brain like a feather in the wind.

He started with a simple question: 'You know Professor Dumbledore?'

'Yes, the Headmaster and I work together sometimes,' admitted Grandfather, 'at the ministry.'

They fell silent once again. Grandfather's expression was hard to decipher, as always. Alexander wanted to demand answers from him but was afraid to ask. Why did Grandfather ignore him throughout the year? Why could he not write him a proper letter?

'Eliot was going out of his mind with worry when he found out,' remarked Grandfather matter-of-factly, 'not that I blame him. You had us completely worried when we found out.'

A smidge of guilt churned in his stomach at causing Eliot and Grandfather so much worry. But he didn't regret his actions, not one bit.

Grandfather scowled, lips pressed taut together. 'Dumbledore wouldn't let me accompany him down that blasted trapdoor.' He breathed deeply, trying to retain his emotions, and gave a curt nod, 'Anyways, the important thing is that you're safe.' 

'So, you're not mad?' Alexander dared to hope.

'I'm furious,' replied Grandfather, tone flat, 'we're going to have a long talk when we get home.'

He sighed and slumped in disappointment. He supposed it could have been much worse.

'You know . . .' began Grandfather, tone shifting to a light melancholy, 'you remind me so much of your mother . . .'

Alexander snapped his head up, heart missing a beat. Grandfather was staring wistfully at him, eyes glazed over as if he were trapped in a memory, which he might well have been.

'She was very stubborn and head-strong and perhaps would have appreciated your actions.'

He was staring at Alexander but not truly seeing him. Alexander couldn't lodge his mouth open for the life of him. It was stuck together thickly like Hagrid's treacle tart. Grandfather sharply inhaled and the flicker of whatever emotion was in his eyes vanished. Grandfather was Grandfather again.

Grandfather's remark gave Alexander enough nerve to quietly ask, 'Why didn't you write to me this year?'

Grandfather sighed, not so poised anymore. 'Even now, I am not completely sure why, to be honest. There's so much I want to say that I often struggle to. Every time I tried to pick up a quill, it seemed like I couldn't say anything that seemed worthwhile. All I can say is I hope you can forgive me.'

Alexander wasn't completely satisfied but watching Grandfather's conflicted features caused him to tentatively nod.

Grandfather appeared a tad relieved. Then, his eyes pierced directly at Alexander thoughtfully for a few seconds then prodded, 'How do you feel, Alexander? _Genuinely_ and I am not talking about in the physical sense – you saw a man die.'

Alexander swallowed and jutted his tongue out to wet his lips. 'I-I, uh, don't really know,' he confessed. 'I don't feel sad if that's what you mean.'

Grandfather's calculated gaze narrowed in on him.

'I mean,' he hastened to explain, 'I'm glad he's gone and I don't know why. People are supposed to feel upset when someone dies but I just . . . can't.' He exhaled frustratedly.

'You feel what you feel,' said Grandfather simply. 'It's natural. You're happy that your friends are safe and glad that Quirrell is dead.'

'It's not wrong?' His stomach was twisted in uncertainty.

'Nothing's wrong about how you feel.'

Grandfather was usually a man of concise words and sentences, yet somehow managed to make Alexander feel better. He nodded dumbly, biting his lip. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he felt numb.

'Grandfather, Voldemort said something – down in the chamber,' he mumbled.

Grandfather stared inquisitively at him. 'Go on.'

'He said something about – about you – well, understanding that power makes you strong,' he described. 'What did he exactly mean by that?'

Grandfather stiffened and the colour drowned from his face. 'Did he mention anything else? Well, Alexander?'

'No,' he shook his head.

Grandfather seemed cautious and sighed very deeply. The years were visible on his face. 'I haven't exactly been honest with you, as you know.' He hesitated as if grappling for words. 'I'm not – proud of the person I used to be. I have made many mistakes – God knows I have, and how much I regret them.' He rubbed his temple wearily. 'Maybe when you are older, I shall fully explain – all of it.'

Alexander didn't want to show his frustration but reluctantly nodded. Grandfather straightened. 'Now, I believe you need more rest. Madam Pomfrey is not pleased with me right now.' The matron glared disapprovingly at them while she checked over a third-year. 'I have to return to the ministry. We'll see you on the platform soon when you return home.'

'You're also coming?' Alexander asked, surprised.

'Of course. Eliot and I will be there to meet you.' Before Grandfather left, he paused then stated, 'I'm proud of you.'

Alexander couldn't help his grin from breaking out, chest bubbling with warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one.


	17. Year's End

Madam Pomfrey permitted him out of the Hospital Wing a couple of hours later, during the evening. Harry was still unconscious and Alexander didn’t know when he was going to wake up. He was fed up with being surrounded by white walls and inhaling the sterile scent that usually lingers in hospitals. He ached to see his friends again and to know what happened to them. Of course, the matron still wasn’t satisfied that Alexander had a good amount of rest but, after much begging on his part, she was a tad convinced that he felt good enough to leave.

‘Now, remember, Laurent,’ warned Madam Pomfrey, as they stood in front of the entrance door to the Wing, ‘if you feel any worse, I want you to immediately come back, do I make myself clear?’

Alexander nodded, trying to suppress his eagerness to be out of there. ‘Yes, Madam Pomfrey.’

‘Good, you may go now.’ She opened the door and Alexander left.

It was evening which meant Ron and Hermione would be in the common room. He wondered if Ron was okay and whether they got out safely. The sight of the Fat Lady’s portrait appeared as he rounded the corner. He took a deep breath, nerves flapping in his stomach, and said the password. The portrait swung open and he stepped into the hole, steeling himself for what he would find.

When he entered, it seemed as if most of the Gryffindors were sitting in the common room, enjoying their last moments before the end of the year. An immediate hush took over and the crowd turned to gape at him, some wide-eyed, others gawking in wonderment. Then fierce mutters broke out. He swallowed, scanning the room desperately for any sight of a familiar face. He sighed in relief as Ron and Hermione pushed their way towards him.

‘Alex!’ cried Hermione, running her anxious eyes over his form as if to check for injuries, ‘they didn’t tell us you were coming out of the Hospital Wing today.’ 

‘Yeah, well, I told Madam Pomfrey that I felt better and she let me go.’

Ron smiled, ‘It’s good to see you again, mate.’ He frowned at the eyes that were unmistakably eavesdropping on them, though they were trying to make it seem like they weren’t. ‘Come on,’ motioned Ron, ‘let’s go someplace where no one will hear us.’ 

‘No,’ said Alexander, shaking his head. ‘We have to wait until Harry wakes up. He needs to be there.’

‘What?’ shot Ron incredulously, ‘we don’t even know when Harry’s going to wake up.’

‘I know, but we’re still going to have to wait.’ Ron didn’t look happy but acquiesced.

‘Are you sure, you’re okay, Alex?’ pressed Hermione, rather worriedly. ‘They told us it was really bad. Dumbledore had to lift you all the way to the Hospital Wing. They wouldn’t even let us see you and Harry.’

‘I’m fine now,’ he soothed, ‘Dumbledore came just in time.’ A thought befell him and in a quiet tone he inquired, ‘So, uh, what happened with Neville?’

‘Oh, he’s fine,’ dismissed Ron, with the wave of his hand. ‘Bit mortified, I suppose, but Hermione’s spell finally wore off.’

‘Is he – um – is he angry with us?’

‘Nah, not anymore.’ At his questioning look, Ron explained, ‘Me and Hermione told him why we had to go.’

Alexander breathed out a tiny sigh. Well, at least that left a little ray of hope that Neville might still be willing to be his friend.

‘Come on,’ said Alexander, ‘let’s grab those seats before anymore takes them.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

When Alexander, Hermione, and Ron received word that Harry had woken up, they all looked at each other. After a quick breakfast, the three rushed out of the Great Hall and made their way to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey, though was a kind woman, was very strict with her patients. They stood outside as the matron frowned at them disapprovingly.

‘Please, Madam Pomfrey,’ pleaded Alexander, hoping his blue eyes showed how anxious they were to see Harry.

The matron pursed her lips, one hand gripping the door that was half-way opened, while she stared at them severely. ‘Absolutely not, Mr Potter needs his rest,’ she asserted. ‘He can’t afford to be distracted.’

‘Oh, go on, please,’ joined in Ron’s imploring tone, ‘it’ll only be for a few minutes.’

‘Which is essential for his recovery,’ she glared. ‘This is a Hospital, I’ll have you know, not a social event.’

‘You let Professor Dumbledore and my Grandfather in to see me,’ pointed out Alexander.

‘Yes, well, of course, that was the Headmaster and Antoine Laurent, who is an important man. He was worried about you. It was quite a different situation.’

‘And we’re his _friends_ , Madam Pomfrey,’ retorted Alexander, ‘we’re worried about him. We just want a short while, nothing big.’

Madam Pomfrey stared at their entreating, hopeful faces, then sighed in resignation. ‘Oh, very well, then. Stay here while I go and inform Mr Potter about his early visitors.’ She shut the door and they heard her feet echo against the marble floor, growing fainter with each second.

Alexander had been worried for a second there that Madam Pomfrey would refuse and they’d have to wait longer.

‘Thank Merlin for that,’ mumbled Ron. ‘Pomfrey is a hard witch to convince.’

Before either Alexander or Hermione could respond, Madam Pomfrey’s shoes rang again, this time growing louder. Alexander straightened. She stood outside and the heavy wooden door opened. The matron’s face appeared.

‘You only have five minutes, mind you, and not even a _second_ longer, understood,’ she cautioned in a sharp tone, face hard.

Alexander nodded with a smile. ‘Yes, Madam Pomfrey.’

‘Right, well, Mr Potter is several beds down.’

She gestured for them to enter the familiar Hospital Wing as she stood to the side and Alexander, fearing that she might change her mind, quickly entered. He marched to where his bed was two days ago, which was almost at the end. Hermione and Ron followed him. He finally located his bespectacled and messy black-haired friend, who sat wide-eyed against his bed.

‘Harry!’ called Alexander, approaching him with a light smile. ‘You’re still alive.’

Harry feebly smiled back, appearing pale. Alexander would never forget his pained screams down in the chamber, not for a long time. He still shuddered as the thought crept up on him occasionally.

Harry shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’m still here.’

‘Harry!’

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, and Harry must have thought the same thing because he winced slightly then let out a soft breath as she held herself in. Worry erupted inside him. Was Harry still in pain? Did his head hurt? Yet, before he could ask, Hermione barrelled on impatiently. 

‘Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to – Dumbledore was so worried —’ 

‘Steady on,’ said Alexander, throwing her a pointed look.

‘The whole school’s talking about it,’ said Ron, then in a lower tone asked, ‘What really happened? Alexander wouldn’t tell us, not until you woke up.’

Harry’s questioning gaze turned to him.

Alexander shrugged. ‘Quirrell almost killed you. I figured the story should at least come from you instead.’

Hermione gasped and Ron appeared shocked.

‘He almost did _what_?’ exclaimed Hermione, her tone higher than usual.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under his linen covers. ‘It’s alright,’ he reassured, ‘I’m fine now. He didn’t get the chance anyway, Dumbledore came.’

‘Well?’ Ron stared with an uneasy look, ‘Go on, then. Tell us what really happened.’

For the next few minutes, Harry narrated everything that had ensued to him and Alexander after they entered the last chamber. Alexander was quiet as Harry talked, with the occasional comment in between.

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Alexander, after coming out of the Hospital Wing, caught the murmured gossip of the student body as he walked around the castle. He’d overheard some second-year boys whispering about how Harry and he were in a huge duel with Quirrell and that they were struck with some nasty spells. It had been like this for two days, especially in the Great Hall. Alexander gained a new respect for Harry after the mutterings and gossips that followed him, as the other boy had to deal with it daily since the first day of Hogwarts. It was quite maddening.

Harry recounted everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. They gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell’s turban, Hermione screamed out loud. Ron and Hermione listened in horror at how Harry was strangled and Alexander almost suffocated to death by the cursed ropes.

‘That’s completely twisted,’ spat Ron, pale in shock. ‘Sick git. It’s a good thing you were wearing your watch.’

‘Oh, Alex, Quirrell must have used a very Dark spell,’ said Hermione, trembling as she gazed apprehensively at Alexander.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, then noticing how Hermione opened her mouth to speak, hurried on in a firmer tone, ‘no really. I’m _fine_ , there’s nothing left to worry about. Quirrell is gone.’

His voice was resolute and he wished they would change the topic. Hermione didn’t look gratified but thankfully kept silent. Alexander didn’t want to spend any more time thinking about his experience than he already had. Besides, what had happened, happened. There was nothing he could do.

‘So the Stone’s gone?’ asked Ron finally, breaking the previous tense atmosphere and Alexander’s thoughts. ‘Flamel’s just going to die?’

‘Apparently so,’ he agreed with a shrug. ‘Dumbledore says he’s fine with it, though, so maybe we shouldn’t be worrying too much.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry agreed, ‘Professor Dumbledore also said – what was it? – “to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”’

‘I always said he was off his rocker,’ declared Ron, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘The next great adventure?’ Alexander wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ve just thought of death as the end of something, not an adventure. What’s so adventurous about dying, anyway?’

‘I think he meant it as a journey,’ replied Hermione thoughtfully, ‘the beginning of something rather than the end.’

Alexander pursed his lips, still not believing this. It was, after all, the death of his mother which caused her to be taken from him when he was born; her death was certainly not an adventure, not for him at least.

When he was younger, he had come across a book for children that had the Grim Reaper pictured menacingly as one of the illustrations. With the Reaper’s tattered cloak and skeleton body, which he thought must have reeked of despair and decay, he vividly envisioned his mother being dragged by one of them to the afterlife, kicking and screaming. Alexander used to be filled with fear, dreading that those hideous creatures lurked behind every corner and shadow, waiting to drag him as well. Eliot put those fears at rest, however, when he dressed as a comical Grim Reaper during one Halloween.

‘So, what happened to you two?’ quizzed Harry. ‘After Alex and I went through the fire, I mean.’ He directed the last statement towards Hermione.

‘Well, I got back all right,’ said Hermione. ‘I brought Ron round – that took a while – and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall. He already knew – he just said, “Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?” and hurtled off to the third floor.’

‘D’you think he meant you to do it?’ said Ron. ‘Sending you your father’s Cloak and everything?’

‘What? On purpose?’ Alexander’s voice was surprised. ‘But why would he do that? I understand the Cloak because it belonged to Harry’s dad, but the other things?’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But we’ve been wrong before, so who knows. Look what happened with Quirrell and Snape.’

‘Well,’ answered Hermione, appalled at the suggestion, ‘if he did – I mean to say – that’s terrible – you could have been killed.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Harry thoughtfully. ‘He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could.’ 

‘You say funny man, I say mad old fool,’ muttered Alexander, ignoring the disapproving frown that Hermione sent him.

Ron snickered in response. ‘Yeah, Dumbledore’s off his rocker, all right.’ His expression shifted into seriousness. ‘Listen, you’ve got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course. You missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you – but the food’ll be good.’

Alexander shuffled his weight, his gaze dropping to the floor. It would have been nice to win, but after their stupidity during the Norbert incident, their chance was smoothly flushed down the toilet.

The four were unable to talk anymore because right at that moment before Harry could reply, Madam Pomfrey bustled over. Alexander bit the inside of his cheek. _Merde_. He’d forgotten to check his watch for the timing.

‘You’ve had nearly fifteen minutes, now out!’ she snapped firmly.

Without arguing, the three Gryffindors quietly bid goodbye to Harry and hurried out of the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey’s scowl on their backs.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The end-of-year feast arrived the next day. Alexander could hardly believe that it had already been a whole year since he’d been at Hogwarts. It seemed like yesterday when he was gaping at the sheer size of the castle, the delicious food, and the hundreds of candles that were hung from the ceiling when he first arrived. 

He made his way to the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were already there as the rest of the Gryffindors had left early, with Ron complaining about his empty stomach. Alexander was busy making sure that his trunk was packed correctly and his clothes folded for tomorrow when he boarded the train. He didn’t want to be stressing when he woke up. The other students, who were making their way to the Hall, suddenly lowered their tones to whispers as he nudged past. They were still talking about the recent ordeal. He internally groaned, wishing for them to stop.

The Hall was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin’s win for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table. Alexander glanced over to where Helen was sitting and waved at her. She beamed back, white teeth and full-blown dimples, and thus generating the cartwheels which he had thought to be gone, to burst open again. He breathed deeply, choosing to ignore the feeling, and sat opposite Ron and Hermione. Neville smiled at him which caused him to grin back. He was thankful that his friend had forgiven him for his part. Dean and Seamus acknowledged him with a friendly nod, though they seemed a bit glum. Indeed, most of his House looked downtrodden.

‘Where’s Harry?’ he asked, turning his attention back to Ron and Hermione to forget the tiny guilt churning in his stomach.

Hermione bit her lip, peering at the front door of the Hall. ‘He should be here any seco – oh, look, there he is!’ Hermione pointed.

Alexander didn’t even need to turn around to catch a glimpse of his friend as the other students did that for him. When Harry walked in there was a sudden silence, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. Harry appeared much healthier with more colour on his face. The muttering still hadn’t died down, instead, they grew more insistent as people hissed to their neighbours. Alexander glared at some particular third-year boys at the end of the table who stood on the bench to stare at his friend.

Dumbledore arrived just then before he could fully yell at them. The babble died away.

‘Another year gone!’ Dumbledore said cheerfully. ‘And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast.’

‘Right now?’ grumbled Ron with a frustrated sigh, staring forlornly at the empty plates.

‘I know, right,’ Alexander groused, his stomach was starting to rumble demandingly. Dumbledore could not have picked a worse time to give a speech.

Hermione shushed them, not taking her eyes off the Headmaster who continued, ‘What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.’

Dumbledore had one thing right. This year has been a complete whirlwind of unexpected events. It certainly hadn’t been boring, that’s for certain.

‘Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, five hundred and twenty-two.’

Alexander clapped mindlessly along with the other students. He wished Dumbledore could hurry up with this part so he could eat. A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. The ferret was banging his goblet on the table, the thumping could be heard from here.

‘Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,’ said Dumbledore. ‘However, recent events must be taken into account.’

Alexander sat up with interest. The room went very still.

‘Ahem,’ Dumbledore cleared his throat. ‘I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes, first – to Mr Ronald Weasley for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.’

Alexander grinned at his redhaired friend proudly. Ron turned purple in the face, looking like a radish with a bad sunburn. Their table erupted into cheers and hoots, the bewitched stars nearly quivering. He overhead Percy telling the other prefects, ‘My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set!’

His breath hitched. Wait, recent events. Did that mean –?

‘Second – to Miss Hermione Granger,’ awarded Dumbledore, after the Hall had become silent, ‘for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.’

It did mean that. Hermione buried her face in her arms; Alexander glanced down confusedly at the bundle of bushy hair on the table. Had she truly burst into tears, right now? Gryffindors up and down the table were excitedly roaring – they were a hundred points up.

‘Third – to Mr Alexander Laurent,’ said Dumbledore, whose bright, twinkling eyes locked onto his astonished ones from the High Table. People spun round to stare at him, and Alexander sank lower into his seat. ‘For unwavering determination and steadfast bravery, I award Gryffindor House 50 points.’

Alexander felt his cheeks ablaze. Dean and Seamus clapped enthusiastically while hooting. People nearest to him leaned over to pat him on the back. He gave an embarrassed wave and listened as the cheers came to a stop.

‘Fourth – to Mr Harry Potter.’ The room went deadly quiet. ‘. . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points.’

Alexander felt his heart leap. They were tied with Slytherin by exactly five hundred and twenty-two points. The Gryffindors realised the same thing because they were yelling themselves hoarse. _Putain de sake_. If only Dumbledore had given any of them just one more point.

Dumbledore raised his hand. ‘There are all kinds of courage,’ he remarked, jovial. ‘It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I, therefore, award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.’

Alexander applauded fiercely as he stood up along with the rest of his House, happiness running through his body. The roars were thunderous. Neville turned to stare at him, white with shock at the announcement. Alexander suspected he was still processing what had just happened.

‘Neville, we won!’ he yelled, gripping his friend’s arms, hoping to break Neville out of his frozen state, ‘We won the House Cup!’

Neville disappeared under a pile of people who lunged to hug him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before.

Harry, still cheering, called to Ron and Alexander to catch their attention over the loud noises in the Hall. Harry pointed at Malfoy, who looked as if he’d just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him. Smug delight flashed through Alexander at the ferret’s pinched and sour face. It felt bloody great to have the upper hand.

‘Which means,’ Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, ‘we need a little change of decoration.’ He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet, the silver became gold, and a towering Gryffindor lion appeared. He saw Snape shaking Professor McGonagall’s hand, with a horrible, forced smile.

He might have been wrong at the beginning. Maybe it wasn’t so much the cup that people wanted so desperately, but more to be a part of something. People celebrating together and finally treating them like part of the House, after the weeks of angry mutterings and cold silence, seemed a breath of fresh air after months of imprisonment.

∞ ϟ 9¾

In the excitement of the feast and the worry over the Stone, Alexander had forgotten about the exam results they were to receive. It wasn’t until Hermione reminded them that he finally remembered. She, of course, was a nervous mess and could be seen fidgeting every time Alexander saw her.

‘Hermione, calm down,’ Ron rolled his eyes as he lounged on the armchair. ‘You’re gonna pass, anyway, so stop your worrying.’

Hermione ignored him and continued muttering to herself. Personally, Alexander thought Ron was right. Hermione’s worries were starting to grate on his nerves, and he couldn’t wait until the grades came out.

And came they did. Professor McGonagall handed their individual sheets in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron did well and achieved good marks. Alexander was pleasantly surprised and happy that he passed. His Charms score was near perfect, with just a couple of marks missing. With Astronomy and History of Magic, he was merely satisfied that he had scrapped past the grade boundary. Hermione, without a doubt, had the best grades of the first-years. She beamed proudly and quivered as Professor McGonagall smiled at her. Neville passed as well, to his surprise, as his good Herbology mark made up for his abysmal Potions one. Neville had secretly admitted to Alexander about being left behind, without all his friends, but Alexander reassured him that it wasn’t going to happen. He nudged Neville when the timid boy received his results, a smirk etched on his face as if to say, ‘told you so.’ Neville reddened and smiled sheepishly in response.

Alexander sighed. ‘I had hoped that the ferret’s bodyguards were thrown out because they didn’t pass.’

‘Who Crabbe and Goyle?’ asked Ron, between a mouthful of sausages, his last before they left, ‘yeah, they passed, apparently.’

‘How disappointing.’ He glanced over to the Slytherin table where Crabbe and Goyle were looking very smug, their heavyset arms crossed across their chests. You’d think they would have won the gold medal at the Olympics with the way they acted.

‘It’s a real shame,’ replied Ron, ‘but, I suppose you can’t have everything in life.’

∞ ϟ 9¾

Before he knew it, Alexander’s wardrobe was empty and his packed trunk, ready from the night before, clutched in his hand. He placed a charm on it to make it lighter. Apollo was locked in his cage, fast asleep as he probably would be throughout the journey back. Ron and Harry threw their clothes into their trunks, without folding, not a care in the world.

Last-minute panic settled for most of the other students. Neville found his toad lurking in a corner of the toilets, people rushed around the common room, some barely dressed, trying to pack missing items; a few hadn’t brushed their hair, while others seemed irritant at the slightest disturbance. Alexander spotted Mrs Norris in a corridor as he carried his trunk. He was close to fulfilling his promise against the wretched cat who had caused so much trouble for him and his friends, but Hermione had to drag him away with a stern reprimand. Ron was severely disappointed that Hermione had stopped Alexander, claiming that the cat would have deserved it.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick distributed notes to all students, as they stood by the entrance of the Great Hall. Alexander read the note which warned them not to use magic over the holidays otherwise they would be expelled. He had forgotten about that tiny detail. After practising magic for a whole year, it’ll be odd to go back to living without it.

‘I always hope they’ll forget to give us these,’ mumbled Fred sadly, as he walked besides Alexander, George on his other side.

‘If you want McGonagall to forget, then you might as well ask for a miracle while you’re at it,’ snorted Alexander, throwing a smirk.

‘A guy can hope for that miracle, Alexi-boy,’ Fred sighed.

Hagrid was there to take the first-years down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake. Alexander shared a compartment with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when they boarded the train; they were carelessly talking and laughing as the train sped past Muggle towns, the countryside becoming greener and neater. Alexander and Harry bought a range of sweets from the trolley lady and shared them with Hermione and Ron, the latter who enthusiastically stuffed himself with glee. A few hours later they pulled off their wizard robes and wore their jackets and trousers. The three boys waited outside in the corridor as Hermione wore hers.

Alexander stood up, brushing off the non-existent crumbs off his dark jeans. Thankfully, he hadn’t made any stains, although he couldn’t say the same for Ron. ‘Hey, I’ll be right back.’

Harry stared at him. ‘Where’re you going? We’re almost there, I think.’ Ron and Hermione turned to glance interestedly at him.

‘Just a few people I want to say goodbye to.’

Harry nodded. Alexander made his way through the corridors, waving through the glass compartments when people recognised him. He stopped at one which contained Dean, Seamus, and Neville, who were being taught Exploding Snap by Seamus. He chatted with them for a minute or two. Neville asked if he wanted to play but Alexander declined the offer and waved goodbye as he left.

In one of the compartments, several before the end, was Nia and Helen, who were luckily alone. Helen was reading a magazine while Nia stared out of the window. They sat on opposite sides and had already changed into their clothes. Nia donned a different shirt to the one in September. He thought that her multiple rings looked better in her muggle clothes. He slid open the door and the two girls peered up as he entered.

Nia nodded a greeting. ‘Oh, hey, Laurent. Come to say goodbye, huh?’ Beneath her feet there lay a guitar case.

Alexander nodded. ‘Yeah, I thought it was fitting that I started the train with you and should end it as well.’

‘I haven’t seen you in a while. Too busy trying to save the school with Potter,’ she smirked.

Alexander shrugged and his stomach stirred guiltily. He knew she meant it as a joke but there was some truth to her remark. The troubles and events of the last few months meant that he hadn’t spoken with one of his first-ever friends in a long time. He promised to make a better effort next year.

Helen must have noticed his embarrassed expression because she lightly said to Nia, removing her eyes from her magazine, ‘Don’t tease him, Ni.’

‘So, uh, you play?’ he motioned to the case.

‘Hmm,’ Nia glanced down then nodded, ‘Oh, yeah, um, it’s just something in my spare time. I’m not that good, to be honest.’

‘She is,’ interjected Helen, grin aimed at her best friend, ‘she sounds amazing when she plays.’

Nia shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding all eye contact. ‘She’s just, uh, exaggerating quite a bit, I’m a beginner really.’ 

‘No, I’m not,’ continued Helen in a resolute tone, then looked up at Alexander, ‘you should listen to her play, and you’ll see how wonderful she is.’

A light dusting of pink spread across Nia’s cheeks. She gazed at Helen with a small smile.

Alexander cleared his throat, gaining her attention. ‘I’ll take your word on that. How come it’s not with the rest of the trunks?’ he inquired curiously.

‘I don’t trust my guitar with anyone else. It cost a lot of money,’ replied Nia, shrugging.

‘She guards that thing with her life,’ Helen rolled her eyes in exasperation, smirking, ‘it sleeps beside her bed.’

Nia grumbled but didn’t argue. Alexander glanced at his watch and realised he should be getting back to his friends.

‘Hey, uh, it was nice to see you two again. I hope you guys have a good summer,’ he said.

‘You too, Laurent,’ said Nia.

‘It was great to see you, Alexander.’ Helen threw a friendly smile. ‘Have a great summer, and I hope we’ll see each other next year.’

Alexander signalled goodbye and made his way back. He was just in time too because he felt the train slowing down, and a quick glimpse outside the compartment window indicated that they had arrived on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King’s Cross Station. He was back in London.

It took quite a while for all students to get off and collect their trunks. The platform was jammed and Alexander was nudged close to Harry and Ron, who were on either side of him. It was difficult to see why the movement of the crowd was so slow because many of the upper-years towered over in front. When they finally reached the front, Alexander discovered the reason. A wizened old guard stood by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn’t attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

‘You must come and stay this summer,’ said Ron, ‘all three of you – I’ll send you an owl.’

‘Thanks,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll need something to look forward to.’

People jostled them as they moved forwards towards the gateway back to the Muggle world. Alexander frowned as a guy casually shoved them to the side without even an apology. Some of them called: ‘Bye, Harry!’ ‘See you, Potter!’

‘Well, that hasn’t changed,’ snorted Alexander.

‘I know, still famous, Harry,’ said Ron, grinning.

‘Not where I’m going, I promise you,’ laughed Harry.

They arrived at the front of the arch and the old wizard lazily raised a hand for them to go through the gateway. On the other side of the platform stood a short, plump woman with the same flaming hair as Ron and the twins, though hers curled at the edges. She was clutching the hand of a small girl. Alexander recognised them as Ron’s family.

‘There he is, Mum, there he is, look!’ called the small girl loudly, but she wasn’t pointing at Ron. ‘Harry Potter!’ she squealed. ‘Look, Mum! I can see —’

Alexander watched in amusement as the older redhead scolded the girl. ‘Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.’ The woman smiled at them. ‘Busy year?’

‘Very,’ said Harry politely. Harry did this every time he met someone he didn’t know, Alexander had noticed. Harry’s tone lowered and he boarded on shyness.

Alexander gave his best courteous look, crossing his arms behind his back. ‘Thank you for the fudge and the jumper, Mrs Weasley. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.’

Mrs Weasley beamed. ‘Oh, it was nothing, dear, I assure you. It was very kind of you to send a thank-you note.’

At that moment, a gruff, harsh voice rang out. ‘Ready, are you?’ This question was directed at Harry.

Alexander stared, even though Eliot had told him it was rude to do so, he couldn’t help himself. A huge, beefy man glared down at them, with hardly any neck. He had a large moustache and was purple-faced for some reason. Behind him was a woman, thin and blonde, who had the neck that the man seemed to be missing, and a boy around his age who looked like a miniature version of the man. The woman and child were terrified at the sight of them.

‘You must be Harry’s family!’ acknowledged Mrs Weasley. 

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said the large man, his tone sounding as if he was trying to conceal his fury. He glowered at Harry, causing Alexander to frown. ‘Hurry up, boy, we haven’t got all day.’ He walked away without a second glance.

‘Um, he was, uh, well —’ Alexander flailed, struggling to find a word to describe Harry’s uncle. ‘Delightful . . .’

Harry chuckled. ‘Oh, I know, don’t worry.’ He picked up his trunk from the trolley. ‘So, see you over the summer, then.’

‘Hopefully,’ nodded Alexander.

‘Hope you have – er – a good holiday,’ said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

‘Oh, I will,’ said Harry.

‘You are?’ Alexander felt surprised at the grin that was spreading over Harry’s face. _He told us he didn’t actually like going to his aunt and uncle’s house. So why would he now?_

Harry answered his unspoken question, tone mischievous, ‘They don’t know we’re not allowed to use magic at home. I’m going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer. . .’

They burst into laughter. Harry waved goodbye to them and walked off after his relatives.

Ron turned to ask him, ‘How are you getting home, Alex?’

Removing his stare from where Harry had disappeared off to, Alexander glanced at his two friends who were left. ‘Hmm, oh, my Grandfather’s picking me up.’

Ron nodded then smirked, his tone in a hushed whisper, ‘Don’t let Percy hear you say that. He’ll be begging to lick your Grandfather’s shoes if he sees him.’ The two boys snickered. Alexander placed his fist in his mouth to prevent his loud laughter, as Hermione sharply said, ‘Ronald!’

Hermione spotted her parents soon after. Before she left, she made them promise to write to her over the summer. She then bid goodbye and bounded off to where her parents were waiting for her, bushy hair bouncing in the process.

Mrs Weasley huffed and muttered under her breath. Percy and the twins hadn’t arrived from the gateway yet and Ron’s mum was beginning to get annoyed.

Alexander spotted Eliot’s tall figure rounding the corner with Grandfather beside him. Eliot was scanning the platform; when his eyes landed on Alexander, he widely beamed and waved like the gentle sea. Alexander felt joy surge through him as Eliot’s comforting face appeared.

‘Alex!’ greeted Eliot as they stood in front of him, buzzing with happiness. ‘You’ve grown taller.’ Grandfather was much more reticent but he threw a tiny half-smile as they came nearer.

Alexander rushed at Eliot and wrapped his arms around his waist in a hug. Eliot squeezed back.

‘I missed you,’ he murmured into Eliot’s heavy, black coat.

‘All right, you two,’ came Grandfather’s voice, ‘you’ll get plenty of chances to catch up at home.’

‘You must be Mr Laurent, Alexander’s Grandfather,’ said Mrs Weasley kindly. 

Grandfather glimpsed at her and gave a polite nod. ‘I am, yes.’

‘It’s very nice to meet you. Alexander’s a sweet boy.’

Grandfather thanked her with a smile, then stared at his watch and gave a pointed look at Alexander. ‘We need to hurry up, I don’t have a lot of time available.’ He turned to Mrs Weasley. ‘I am sorry I can’t stay for long – business at the Ministry.’

‘Well, this is goodbye, I guess,’ he said to Ron.

‘Yeah, I’ll write to you,’ promised Ron. ‘You can come round mine as well.’

‘Have a good summer,’ he said, picking up his trunk, then walked off with Grandfather and Eliot.

Grandfather took a phone out of his pocket and held it up to his ear when they exited King’s Cross Station. Alexander reckoned he was calling Albert, their driver, to bring the car around.

‘So, good time?’ asked Eliot.

Alexander peered up at him. ‘Eventful,’ he shrugged.

‘Oh, I bet it was,’ Eliot suddenly glared, crossing his arms across his broad chest. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little adventure. We’re going to have a big talk about your recklessness when we get home.’

Alexander quietly groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this story. I hope anyone reading this enjoyed it as much as I did in writing it. I also hope Alexander is realistic and likeable enough. This is only the first book and many more are to come. Book Two follows the events of Chamber of Secrets, which should be out soon. So please keep a lookout.


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